


The Children Of Sylvain

by thor20



Series: The Children Of Sylvain [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (eric andre voice) what if it was STEAMPUNK, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Not Season 4 and 5 compliant, Political conspiracy, Possible Character Death, Sequel, and had more FANTASY in it, canon typical quell fuckery, none of griffin's worldbuilding applies in this story. none of it, will add tags as story proceeds, worms and disease and pestilence and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-10-01 18:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 108,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thor20/pseuds/thor20
Summary: There's nothing familiar about the world outside the walls of Sylvain. It cannot be seen - the Quell's thick fog consumes it all: ruined cities, feral Sylphs, ancient unspeakable terrors, forgotten libraries full of dusty knowledge. In isolation, Sylvain's last survivors huddle behind the walls of their city as the storm closes in.Until, four months after the Ashminder is killed, they realize that there's one last option.Something is falling from the Sylvan sky, far and fast. Something built of teeth and stone is stirring in the bowels of the planet. There's a glowing necklace inside a double-locked safe somewhere in Kepler. And on Earth, our three heroes find that their planets and pasts hold more secrets than any of them could have believed.





	1. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by ["The Seer's Tower" by Sufjan Stevens:](https://open.spotify.com/track/40dkVbHDhKjzRnlS2yzcdO?autoplay=true&v=T)
> 
> _In the tower above the earth,_  
_There is a view that reaches far_  
_Where we see the universe,_  
_I see the fire, I see the end._

_ "You ever wonder why we’re still here?” _

_ Metal slams. Once. Twice. Like hands beating frantically at the underside of a metal coffin. Lights orbit him and fling themselves off into the distance, traveling farther and farther away, like the windows of a passing train at night. _

_ Three times. Four, five. The pounding rings with the beat of his heart, now. _

_ He opens his eyes, without any memory of ever closing them. _

_ He’s falling, falling, down between frozen orange veins of light - like sprays of magma in the sky, like streams of ice backlit by fire, the wind punching through his clothes and the earth tugging him down into gravity’s embrace. Orange lightning unfolds, jerky and slow. But he is falling at a normal speed, judging from how fast the clouds leave him behind. The lightning flashes as slowly as honey oozes from a honeycomb. _

_ “You ever wonder why we’re still here?” _

_ The orange veins become an interconnected web, between thousands of orange stars floating in the black sky. Somewhere, someone is screaming a name. _

_ “You ever wonder why we’re still here?” _

_ “Why does it matter, if I’m with you?” he whispers to nobody, turning and tumbling. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a city - tall, stately, proud, swallowed with thrumming orange fire. _

_ Then the ground hits - _

_ At first he thinks it is snowing. _

_ There are feather-light touches on his cheeks and forehead, like moths gently fluttering across his skin. Then he makes the mistake of breathing in - and his lungs ignite with pain, as if he’s taken a blast to the face from a coal-rolling truck’s exhaust. He coughs and coughs; something silty and dry leaves his mouth. _

_ Somewhere nearby, there is a long wordless scream. He tries to sit up, but can only push himself onto his elbows; his back and stomach hurt too much. As if a child has tugged on a paper flap in a pop-up book, the shadows fold back and reshape themselves into three towering pillars and near-invisible walls. The dust collecting around him shivers and unfurls like an oil slick; where it touches, the ground becomes polished marble. _

_ A small person huddles at the base of the middle pillar. _

_ Space seems strange around them - torn, almost, or warped like a funhouse mirror. They are crying, hand clutched to their chest as if they’ve injured it. Dust flutters from the ceiling and drifts around them like snow. _

_ Then the child looks up, and he finds himself staring into the eyes of a young girl. Black smoke pours off her in thrumming waves; he feels an electric buzzing in his teeth, in the back of his mind. Something in her clenched fist, clutched tight to her chest, is glowing, bright enough that the bones of her hand are visible. _

_ She snarls. Her teeth are too many, needle-thin and doubtlessly sharp, her mouth looking like a box full of nails arranged in neat rows. He yells and skitters back as she snaps her teeth at him; his heel catches on a ledge, and he tips over into the abyss. _

_ Metal slams. Fists, beating rhythmically. He falls down, down into the core of the earth, but the sounds he hears are not the crumbling, heaving sounds of a shattering planet. Crisp air; thundering propellers; howling winds. The sounds of a far-off sky. _

_ He closes his eyes, and opens them, and the moment he opens them the falling… stops. Not as if he’s hit bottom at last, but as if a cord has snapped taut. The last puppet string holding him aloft, vibrating with the effort of keeping him afloat. It’s not that sensation that makes his body shake, though. It is fear. _

_ There is something down here, in the deepest levels of this world; something ancient, something nearly as old as the planet itself. _

_ Two great glowing eyes open in the dark: golden, bright as two suns, with slitted pupils so dark they are like holes into another universe. He forgets how to breathe. _

_ “You ever wonder why we’re still here?” _

_ The eyes lunge forward - _

\- and Duck Newton jolted awake in bed, chest heaving. The ceiling of his bedroom had cracks in the drywall - something he’d been meaning to get fixed for a good long while - and for a moment he expected orange light to ooze through them like magma. He lay there with one hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall.

He was alive. He was okay. It was just a dream, and one hell of a wild one. He scrubbed a hand over his face. The dream left that same taste in his mouth that visions did, metallic and sour. Duck glanced over at the alarm clock and pressed a button twice, until its display showed today’s date.

May 11th. Two weeks to the day since Evelyn had come back to Kepler. A month and a half after the last abomination they’d fought, a kobold-type creature who’d given Kepler a streak of incredibly good luck, before someone pissed it off and it started kidnapping people’s pets in revenge. They’d put it down with little trouble, but still… only a month and a half ago.

Too soon for another vision. Far too soon. Duck took a deep breath and glanced over to his partner’s side of the bed.

His heart stopped.

Indrid wasn’t moving. His eyes were open and incredibly bloodshot, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Duck waved a hand in front of Indrid’s face and tapped his cheek. No response. In the low light of early dawn, he couldn’t even tell if Indrid was breathing.

He didn’t even blink. Not once. He was sleeping like… like the dead -

“Indrid?” he breathed. _ “Indrid?” _

There was no answer.

“Indrid!”

* * *

If it hadn’t been for that fucking nosebleed, Aubrey wouldn’t even be out and about this early. 

She, Dani, and Jake were wandering up and down the riverside, nibbling pastries they’d picked up from the coffee shop on 2nd Street. Aubrey woke up that morning with a splitting headache and blood on her pillowcase; a cold towel on her neck and a glass of water later, she was totally fine, but the headache lingered so much that she couldn’t get back to sleep. And Jake and Dani hadn’t been sleeping well, either.

Hence the walk and their breakfast. It was strange, being awake this early. Aubrey thought the days of getting up at the ass-crack of dawn were behind her. No more catching Greyhounds to distant cities, beating foot traffic to get to train stations. Scrounging for cab fare. 

She nibbled her muffin, wincing as it started to crumble under her teeth. Jake stepped on a twig and almost fell, and the _ snap _ scared a handful of birds into the pale-blue sky.

Dani slipped her hand into Aubrey's and gently squeezed. Aubrey squeezed back and yawned so hard she could feel her jaw pop. “You doing okay, babe?” Dani said.

“Hanging in there,” Aubrey said, leaning over to peck Dani on the cheek. Jake made a faint, teasing sound of disgust, and Dani plucked a raisin out of her bagel and threw it at him. “The nose is fine now, but my head still kinda hurts.”

“We’ll get you something to drink when we get back,” Jake said, tossing a twig into the river. The poor guy looked like he needed sleep even more than Aubrey did, with circles dark as bruises under his eyes. He hadn’t slept well since January ended. “I need some water, too, this donut’s drying my mouth up.”

“You drink less than a glass a day, Jake, Jesus -”

“I’m _ trying, _Dani, I’m sorry!”

It was barely seven in the morning. She hadn't been up this early by choice in months. God. It was early enough that Kepler hadn't even come close to waking up; the streets were silent, windows tightly shut, and it was chilly enough that she had to borrow one of Dani's hoodies before they went on their walk. A gentle breeze blew cottonwood seeds and a few stray twigs across the dirt path. She didn't think anyone else would be up this early on a Saturday morning.

That is, until they started along the riverside path and saw five figures at the other end, spread across the entire width of the path. "Oh, beans," Jake whispered, ducking behind Dani.

Some of his donut crumbs fell onto the ground; Aubrey was wearing flip flops, and they tickled as they skittered across the top of her foot. "Who is it?" Dani said, frowning.

"It's Hollis and Keith, I'd recognize their hair anywhere," Jake muttered, trying to scrunch himself up as much as possible. He and Dani were about the same height, but Jake's limbs were a lot more gangly than Dani's. He walked like a stork with galoshes on, all flailing knees and elbows. They'd need to build a wall to make sure he was completely hidden. "Shit. We gotta go back."

"No, no, we'll be okay," Aubrey said, squinting down the path. Now that she was looking, she could see Keith's mohawk and Hollis's dyed-blue hair, pulled into a loose ponytail. There were a few other people with them that she didn't recognize. "We were here first, they're not gonna do anything to us." 

Jake made a noise like air being let out of a balloon and hunched even further behind Dani. Dani reached behind her and patted his shoulder. "It's fine. We'll just let them pass and move on."

The Hornets were getting closer, to the point that Aubrey could hear their conversation. As Jake nervously munched on his donut and Dani reassured him, she walked a bit further forward and ducked behind a tree to listen. One guy at the back of the pod was waving his arms around frustratedly, ranting about something, while the other two listened to him. "He's not even paying attention!" he exclaimed. "Like - I've been trying to talk to him for _ weeks, _ man -"

"One time I was able to tie his shoelaces to his mountain bike pedal and he didn't notice shit," one of his friends, a tiny dark-haired girl, said. "Andre, you're gonna be okay."

"It doesn't feel like it," Andre said. He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I just. Wanna ask him out, y'know -"

A chorus of "ooh"s went up around the group, and even Hollis reached around to gently punch Andre in the shoulder. "Go for it, man," they said, with surprising warmth. Aubrey blinked. "I got it on good authority that he _ really _ wouldn't mind getting asked."

"Yeah, I know," Andre muttered, scuffing his shoe on the dirt path. "I dunno, it might just be awkward."

"How come?" 

"Because, Alice, we'll see each other all the time because of practice, and what if he turns me down, and then what if I have to keep dealing with that -"

"Well, that's the opposite of a problem for us!" the third person - a ridiculously tall person with a bar through their ear and a leather jacket - cackled, throwing their arm around Alice's shoulders. She pulled them down for a dramatic kiss, and Keith groaned and put his head in his hands. 

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Aubrey felt a strange pang in her chest, watching them, and glanced back at Dani and Jake. The two of them huddled at the side of the path near Aubrey, waiting for the Hornets to pass. It seemed like they were banking on Keith and Hollis not noticing them.

No such luck. "Hey, hey, hey!" Keith called out, his voice echoing off the trees. "Look who's daring to show his face out here this early."

"Shut up, Keith," Dani said serenely, giving Keith a frosty glare. Hollis elbowed him. "Good morning to you too."

Keith opened his mouth to say something else, but Aubrey beat him to it. "Got anything better to do than just mouth off?" she said. "Heard there's a sale on muffins at the coffee shop, maybe take one and stuff it in your mouth. That'll shut you up."

"Huh, a muffin doesn't sound too bad, actually," the person Alice kissed muttered.

"Jordan." Hollis took a deep breath and sighed, "You just had breakfast. We _ cooked _ you breakfast."

"What? Practice isn't for another two hours, I'm hungry!" Jordan said.

"We don't have time for this," Keith said, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Just get out of our way, Jake, we've got places to be."

"I mean, so do we," Jake mumbled. He anxiously took his sunglasses off and started fiddling with them. "Nobody's stopping you.”

""Cept you."

This was nothing new, Aubrey knew. This was the way things went, in the weird complicated abyss of Jake's relationship with his old friends. They'd see him, he'd shrink away and try to do something else, Keith would needle him, Hollis would drag Keith away, and that would be that. But there was something off about the way this whole thing was going down. It may have been how early it was; nobody was on their clap-back A game at 7 in the morning on a Saturday, not even Aubrey. Keith seemed as if he was going through the motions of it all. Not that she was complaining, it just seemed a little... off. 

And then Aubrey's eyes landed on Hollis, and she couldn't help but let her eyebrows go up.

Hollis was staring at Jake without even trying to hide it. The rest of their friends were starting to move along, but they stayed still in the middle of the path. Alice hip-checked them on their way past, but they didn't even move. There was something in their eyes: shock, surprise, something confused and intrigued. And Jake just... stared back. "What?" he said numbly.

His words seemed to shock Hollis out of a trance; they blinked and even shook their head a little, before jamming their hands in their pockets and following their friends. "You, uh," they said. "You got something in your eye." 

"Oh," Jake said, bewildered. "Thanks." As Hollis jogged after the other Hornets, he watched them go, before turning to Dani and Aubrey. "Do I?"

Aubrey opened her mouth, but no words came out. 

"Is there something stuck in there? I dunno, I don't feel anything -"

"Jake," Aubrey said faintly. "Uh."

"What?"

"Your eyes are glowing."

Dani's head whipped around, and she grabbed Jake's shoulder to look at him better. "Holy fuck," she whispered. "Here, move into the sun a little -" Jake walked backwards into a patch of sunlight, and oh - there it was, that flash of light that Aubrey had seen. The warm brown of his eyes now had a faint, familiar orange glow. And the closer Aubrey looked at him, the more she could see other details - his teeth looked a little pointier, and there seemed to be white streaks in his hair the same color and shade of his Sylph form's fur.

"Okay," Aubrey said slowly. "That's not good."

Dani hissed quietly, and Aubrey raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, not good at all," she said, wincing. "Just bit my tongue on accident." She grimaced, showing Aubrey her teeth, and Aubrey's blood ran cold. All of Dani's teeth were pointed, and even in the shadows of the riverside forest her skin seemed to glow. 

This was bad. This was really fucking bad.

Aubrey swallowed and glanced over her shoulder at the Hornets, as they headed down the path on their way to the coffee shop. She met Hollis's eyes again. They watched the three of them for a while, eyes narrowed, before turning around to follow their friends. “We need to get back,” she said quietly, grabbing Dani’s elbow and dragging her down the path. Jake scurried behind them. “This isn’t right. We need to go find Mama right now.”

* * *

In his many glamorous years of life, Ned Chicane had learned there were many ways to describe morning. It was “a philosophical hour” to Bradbury’s Captain Beatty, and “rosy-fingered” to the Greeks. Fresh, new, exciting, enchanting, ethereal. Sometimes preceded by "early;" other times it was followed by "wood." Ned preferred a very specific kind of morning, especially on the weekends: late, lazy, drowsy, filled with home-cooked breakfast and a peaceful, softly-droning song on the radio. Something sweet and soft.

Not this. This wasn't fucking it.

Something in the distance was ringing - a phone, the microwave, the alarm he swore that he'd turned off last night, maybe the goddamn fire alarm - whatever the case, he was waking up to both it and a mouthful of Barclay's hair. He coughed weakly and shoved Barclay's shoulder; the other man murmured something, but didn't move. Dense shadow filled the entire room, and a single sunbeam cut through the curtains, pale yellow and shimmering with trapped dust.

"Move, you," Ned whispered, gently shoving Barclay's shoulder again. "C'mon. I gotta go turn the... whatever off."

Still half-asleep, Barclay grumbled something and rolled over, curling into the pillows. Ned felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but a yawn split his face before he could. There'd be plenty of time for smiling like an idiot once the godawful noise stopped.

He followed the noise blindly, scratching his beard and yawning as he shuffled to the kitchen, flicking the lights on. A full rack of dishes was drying next to the sink, and Barclay had left a tied-off bag of sliced bread by the toaster oven. Ned closed the toaster oven. He could barely hear the hinges creak over the sound of the phone ringing, its shrill buzz echoing throughout the Cryptonomica's living space.

Whoever was calling had better have a damn good reason. It was seven a.m. on a Saturday, and he didn't open the Cryptonomica until noon on weekends. Hopefully this would be easy to resolve, and he'd be able to get back to bead and have some decent breakfast. Picking up the phone and sounding as gruff and sleepy as possible, he said, " 'Lo? Who is it?"

"Ned," a frosty voice said on the other end.

Ned immediately felt steel shoot through his spine, and he stood up, feeling as if he'd been hit with a deluge of cold water. "Oh, hi there, uh, Vanessa," he said numbly. "What's - what's up, what's shaking? How can I -"

"I need you to check on Barclay right now," Vanessa said, each word more clipped and cold than he'd ever heard her. She sounded far too alert for this early in the morning. "Is he breathing?"

If her tone hadn't sent dread rippling through his stomach like a bad burrito, then that question certainly did. "Uh... last I checked, yeah?" Ned glanced through the kitchen door into the open bedroom across the hall. "Hang on, lemme - one sec -"

He shuffled across the highway, watching the phone carefully to make sure he didn't accidentally tug the cord out of the wall unit. "Hey, Barks?" he called softly into the bedroom, flicking the lights on. "Vanessa called, she just wants to make sure you're breathin' for some reason. I know you sleep like the dead most nights, but..."

He trailed off. As he stared, Barclay stirred and slowly sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Huh?" he said sleepily.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Ned muttered. The entire pillow was covered in loose, dark reddish-brown hair. And the blankets. And the sections of the sheets that Barclay had been sleeping on. He looked like a particularly tall museum model of a Neanderthal. Christ on a cracker. Ned slowly raised the handset to his mouth again.

"What is it, Ned?"

"Uh, Vanessa?" Ned said. "I'm gonna need to call you back. He's, well, fine."

Barclay said, "Ned, what -"

"If you're both okay, we need you to come to the Lodge as soon as possible. And you're _ sure _ \- "

"He's breathin', he's fine," Ned said, "get off my ass about it! Fuck's sake. Talk later at the Lodge. Toodles."

_ "Ned -" _

Ned sighed and went back into the kitchen to hang up the receiver. In the bedroom, Barclay had realized what was going on and was sheepishly scraping piles of hair together with his hands. "It's like I turned into a giant dog overnight," he said. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Ned said offhandedly. "I'll just ask Duck to lend me some lint rollers, we'll be good. Disguise items fall off all the time, I bet..."

But Barclay was no longer listening to him. He stared at his wrist as if he'd just seen a snake wrapped around it - but there was no snake, just a single worn braided hemp bracelet. 

"Oh," Ned said faintly.

"Yeah, oh," Barclay said. "This... this ain't fuckin' good."

* * *

The dial tone was soft, muffled. Vanessa slowly hung up, hand lingering on the phone's handset, and put her hands in her pockets. The main room of the Lodge was dead silent at this hour; most residents were still asleep and hadn't been woken up by the night's events. She put both hands above her head and stretched, wincing as her shoulders and back popped so hard she could hear them. 

Another wave of pain rippled through her; she grabbed the back of the nearest couch, gritting her teeth, and slowly pressed a hand to her hip. The skin there was oddly cold, even through the fabric of her pants. Pain throbbed under her fingers like a second heart. 

Her fingers slowly traced the shape of her tattoo, where the coldness stopped and the warm flesh of her skin began. Vanessa took a deep shuddering breath and let go of the couch.

Mama was down the hall in another room; the door was cracked open, and sunlight from the room's open windows streamed into the hallway. Vanessa slunk down the hall and slipped into the room, careful not to make a sound. The figure in the bed stirred faintly. Mama, in the chair by the bed, did not.

"Hey," Vanessa said softly.

Mama did not acknowledge her for a few seconds. Then her shoulders lifted slightly, and she let out a long, weary sigh. "Hey, Vanessa," she said softly. "Mind doin' me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Close that window for me, would ya?"

Vanessa put a reassuring hand on Mama's shoulder. The woman did not respond, only focused more on the bed. She swallowed and moved around the bed, gently twitching the curtains shut.

In the bed, Moira stirred again, turning her face towards Vanessa. "Ness," she croaked. "Hey."

Vanessa looked down at Moira's body, at her faintly-glowing hands folded primly on her blanket and the ghostly pearls around her neck. "Hey," she said. "You holding up okay?"

"As well as I can." The old ghost cleared her throat and straightened up. Mama's hand rubbed soothing circles into her shoulder. "You had any luck with Dave?"

"None," Vanessa said, trying not to sound bitter. She could feel herself failing in that regard. "He's not giving any ground - ah, _ shit, _" she hissed, grabbing the headboard again as the tattoo on her hip went cold again.

In an instant, Mama was at her side. "C'mon, Ness, let's get you sitting down," she murmured, guiding her towards her empty seat. The going was tough; Vanessa's entire leg felt cold and numb, as if she'd let it sit in the freezing Greenbrier for a week or two. Mama's hand was warm and solid around Vanessa's upper arm; as cold and clammy as she was, it felt like Mama's hand was on fire.

Her hand briefly left Vanessa's arm, then returned. "You're cold as ice," Mama muttered, frowning at Vanessa's skin. Moira weakly hummed a painfully familiar song, and Vanessa's mind filled in the lyrics: _ Willing to sacrifice our love... _ Oh, for fuck's sake.

It seemed Mama came to the same conclusion. "Very funny," she muttered. "Ness, you got any aches 'n pains, or are you just -"

Another wave, gut wrenching, sudden, overwhelming. This one almost made Vanessa cry out, her hand digging into her hip to distract herself from the pain. She felt her skin itching, prickling, as if thousands of hairs were raising on her skin - 

She forced her eyes open, staring groggily at her arm. It was as if someone had embossed a pattern in leather, or gently ran their hand over a pillow made of sequins. Bits of her skin had lifted up in grooved patterns, looking almost scaly. Her skin shone with moisture.

Then her tattoo flared again, with one searing burst of pain so strong her vision whited out for a second, and the scales were gone. Everything was back to normal.

As normal as it could be. Vanessa took a deep breath and sighed. "Yeah. yeah, I... think I'm fine now," she whispered. "It's alright."

As soon as she said that, Mama's hand left her arm as if she'd been burned. Her fingers flexed oddly, before she forced her hand to her side. "Good," she said softly. "Okay. I'm gonna go get Moira another blanket. And then..."

"Ned and Barclay should be coming over," Vanessa said. "And when Aubrey and the others get back, we'll corner them. Where's Stern?"

"Out in Snowshoe, checking voicemails. Might bring us back a coffee or two, we'll see. Wanna wait for him, or...?"

"We'll have time to catch him up, he's remarkably attentive to detail."

"That's good, I've picked up on that. Want to give Duck and Indrid a call, too, just to be sure?"

"Certainly."

It felt... oddly strained, talking with Mama. As if they were reading lines off a teleprompter, or acting out a middle schooler's stilted script. There was a tension between them that Vanessa felt she could walk across like a tightrope. Now didn't seem like the time, but she hoped that there would be one.

In the front room, the door slammed shut. Voices: Aubrey, Dani, Jake, sounding bleary and exhausted. Almost everyone then - not counting Stern, who might be out in Snowshoe for a good long while, or Barclay and Ned. "Alright," Vanessa said. "I'll check in with them."

"Thanks. Really hope they're doin' okay."

In the bed, Moira took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her edges flickered, her glow dimmed. Vanessa tried not to see how the pillow's fabric shone through Moira's head, even with her disguise ring on, and left for the front room.

* * *

There was silence in the bedroom.

"I should have told you."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry, it should have come up, I didn't - I didn't think this would happen, I had no idea -"

"Really, Indrid, it's fine." Duck looped an arm around Indrid's shoulders and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. His hair felt strange when it touched Duck's lips - too soft, too feathery, as if he'd been a down pillow this whole time and had suddenly burst open. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Hey, shit happens. I dunno what's goin' on, if your disguise is gettin' fucked up or what, but it's okay. I was just worried as hell, that's all." He paused, and added, "Juno's the entomologist, not me."

Indrid laughed softly. His breath was warm, alive, against Duck's chest, filtering through his shirt. "Yeah," he said. "Pretty significant oversight, though, I think, not telling you that insects don't breathe."

"Or blink, Jesus -"

"I'm still so sorry -"

"Shh... it's okay. I was just kiddin', man, c'mere."

"I'm already here," Indrid said, tilting his head up to look at Duck. His strange multifaceted eyes - courtesy of whatever the fuck made his disguise act up - gleamed in the morning sunlight, filtering through the blinds. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Mm." Duck hugged him even tighter, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. "You don't know how fuckin' glad I am to hear that."

"Hon, it's not a promise, it's a threat," Indrid said nonchalantly. "It's seven o'clock on a summer Saturday - Duck Newton, do not even _ think _ about making an alliteration joke -" Duck snickered; that was exactly what he was going to do. "And I have no intention of getting up this early."

"But we're already awake," Duck said softly. "We're already up, man, there's no goin' back -"

"Why _ were _you up?"

Indrid's sudden soft question made Duck freeze, just for a moment. It was enough to make Indrid wriggle slightly out of Duck's embrace and look up at him, brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?" he whispered. "Other than, y'know, me looking like I was dead and all."

"Yeah, that really put a damper on my morning," Duck said sarcastically. Indrid rolled his eyes. "It's... alright. I just had a weird dream last night."

Indrid nodded slowly, looking down at his hands, where they were sprawled over the top of their blankets. Duck gently took one of Indrid's and squeezed, slowly running his thumb over Indrid's knuckles. "Mm," Indrid said, deceptively quietly. "Was it... just a dream? Or a _ dream _-dream?"

Duck thought back to that strange lurching nausea when he woke up, and the feeling that he was leaning against a bed of rusty nails. Two flaming yellow eyes, opening in the shadows. "A dream-dream," he whispered.

"Was it bad?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

Slowly, without disturbing the arm around his shoulders, Indrid reached for the nightstand and grabbed his journal. Duck took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes, when he heard the click of a pen and felt Indrid squeeze his hand. "Tell me," Indrid said softly.

And Duck did.

* * *

In Snowshoe, sitting at a table in the resort Starbucks, Agent Garfield Kent Stern took notes on a legal pad with his phone pressed to his ear. He had a white-knuckled grip on his pen, and the hand holding his phone seemed to be shaking. A barista loaded drinks into a carrying tray and pushed them across the counter, calling his name. He waved once in recognition and returned to taking notes.

His handwriting was frantic, scribbled, nearly illegible - as if someone had taken his words, reflected them, and turned them upside down. Gary paused at the end of a line and set his pen down, frowning. He rewound a few seconds in the voicemail he was listening to and wrote more things down. 

_ Previous report. Connection. _ _Death._

Gary’s hands shook again; his writing became a seismograph’s scrawl. He took a deep breath, started the voicemail over, and continued to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK YEAH IT'S TIME TO _**PARTAYYYYYYY**_
> 
> TCOS is ready to rock and roll on that 45, we're doing this! I've been working on this for a while and I hope y'all enjoy where I'm going to go with this - because, frankly, I have no fucking clue either. I have a plan and I have some folks in my corner, and I think things will go well. Hit me with a comment or an ask on [my tumblr,](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) let me know what you think! 
> 
> Next on _The Children of Sylvain_: we figure out just what was in the contents of Stern's voicemail, and the Lodge gets a special visitor. Thanks for reading!!


	2. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few housekeeping notes:  
\- I moved the day chapter 1 and chapter 2 takes place forward a week, from May 4th to May 11th, for reasons which shall become clear. It mostly has to do with me not knowing how to read a calendar.

_ "Haynes, here. _

_ How’s it going out in the boonies? Bet you didn’t think we’d actually be the ones calling you, for once. I can’t give you all the details about this in a voicemail, but when you get the chance, call me back. We may have found a connection between a previous report of yours and a Harrison County death investigation. Just need to confirm a few details with you. _

_ Nothing too big, but just - yeah. Gotta go. Call me back soon." _

It might've been a cliche to say that the past was coming back to bite him in the ass, but damn it - he didn't exactly have anything better to describe this. It was uncomfortable; it hurt; it was accurate enough. Gary took a deep breath and put his head in his hands, staring down at the legal pad. His handwriting was nearly illegible, even to him; the notes on Haynes' message looked disjointed, bloated, like blood welling up in paper cuts.

This was all his fault - whatever it was. And if Haynes was calling, after nearly a month of radio silence, then this had to be something bad.

His previous reports - before the Ashminder, before everything changed - had left no stone unturned and no fact unwritten. Attention to detail had gotten him to where he was today; before UP snapped him up, he'd studied history, mythology and folklore at the graduate level, and Lord knew he had the patience to put his nose to the grindstone and gather all the facts he could. It felt like he'd gotten everything, short of DNA samples, that the residents of Kepler were willing to give. And now that those ridiculously detailed reports were in the FBI's hands, there wasn't much he could do to undo that.

Except sabotage them wherever he could. But that still meant he had to look like he was doing his job. Time to bite the bullet. He picked up his phone again, tuning out the sounds of the barista finishing off the Lodge's last batch of coffees, and dialed Haynes' offices number. Each of the dial tones made his stomach lurch. He wasn't completely immune to nerves. Quite the opposite.

A click. _ "Haynes speaking." _

Showtime. "Hey, it's Stern," he sighed. "Just got your voicemail."

_"Ah, finally. It's about goddamn time,"_ the other agent chuckled, _"I was almost starting to get worried.”_ Gary gritted his teeth and tapped his pen against his legal pad. _“Thought you checked your voicemail every day?”_

“Every week, Haynes, and that’s how it’s always been. Don’t sound so surprised.” 

There was rustling on the other end of the call, and a loud slurping noise. Gary stared at the ceiling. Haynes smacked his lips and set down a mug - he heard the _ clank _of ceramic on a desktop - and said, _“Okay. How much time do you have? Are you alone?”_

Gary glanced over at the pickup counter. The Starbucks was empty except for the barista, who leaned against the counter and paged through a thick book without meeting his eyes. “Yeah, but you’ll have to make it quick. I have places to be soon.”

_“Ooh, look at that, ol’ Gary's keepin’ himself busy,”_ Haynes chortled. Gary gritted his teeth. _“Getting cozy with the locals, eh? Get any good dirt on them for your report?”_

“Thought I was supposed to be investigating murders, not writing a gossip column,” Gary said. “Seriously, Haynes, get to the point. When I say soon I mean I only have about five or ten minutes -”

_“Thought you always had time for dear old Haynes.”_

_ You’re not my dear old anything, _Gary did not say. But boy, was he thinking it. “The report. What did my old report have to do with -”

_ "Right, yes, that," _ Haynes sighed. " _ So - your first report, right? The preliminary once-over of Kepler. Names, locations, maps, et cetera." _

"Yup."

_ "We ran background checks on everyone you mentioned." _ There it was, that deep pain in his chest. Gary shifted awkwardly, his pen tapping the legal pad at a feverish pace. The barista gave him an alarmed look. _ "You didn't give us an awful lot to work with, to be fair, but one name pinged in the Bridgeport Police Department's database. Taking notes, Gary?" _

"Of course, of course," Gary said wearily, flipping his pen around and scribbling on the page. "Bridgeport. That's -" Something registered in his mind, and he sat up a bit straighter. "Wait. That's - Bridgeport, that's in Harrison County, right? That's five minutes away from Clarksburg, where I grew up."

_ "Fascinating," _ Haynes said, sounding as if it was anything but. " _ Funny how that works. Anyway, Bridgeport PD had an arson and manslaughter case that hasn't really been closed for the past six years. They put in an information request five years ago with us, which is why we got the ping. Back then, they arrested someone who was in the area and had stolen goods from a different crime, but. Well. No dice on if he was the arsonist. They couldn't find any evidence that he'd done it, you know." _

"Right."

_ "No evidence that it was anything but an accidental fire, but a lot of things didn't match up. Threw the guy in jail, hoped for the best. But now, that name on the background check." _

Okay, great, now they were getting to the important part. Gary's stomach lurched painfully, and he got ready to write. "Yeah. What's the situation with that?"

_ "Bridgeport PD had the name down as a possible witness, to interview at a later date." _ Haynes took another long slurp from his coffee mug, the sound making Gary's skin crawl. _ "After the funeral, though, she vanished." _

Funeral. That's right - this was a manslaughter case; someone must have died in that fire. "Jesus," Gary muttered.

Haynes made a vague sound of acknowledgement. _ "Yeah, the paperwork was a goddamn nightmare, I bet," _ he said dismissively. _ "They'd had a godawful time with this, because the deceased's husband - well, he got knocked out during the attack and didn't witness a damn thing. This other witness, though... she's been AWOL for about five years, and hasn't been seen in West Virginia until you reported her location. In Kepler." _

And it was then that it hit him. His blood ran cold; that nervous flutter he'd had in his stomach that whole time flared up with a vengeance. He felt as if he'd hit a deer with his car on a dark road. "What do you mean, Haynes?" he said, his voice sounding faint.

_ "You're the one who wrote her up, Stern. Do you have a current read on the whereabouts of Aubrey Little?" _

* * *

Five miles away, Aubrey Little sat cross-legged on an armchair in the basement of Amnesty Lodge, swirling a glass of iced water like it was a wine glass and making the most conscious of efforts not to look at the fluorescent lights. The minute they'd gotten back to the Lodge, her headache had come back with a goddamn vengeance. She could feel it blossoming into a migraine, pounding somewhere behind her right eye. At least nobody gave her sunglasses a second glance anymore.

Dani silently passed her an ibuprofen. Aubrey whispered, "Thank you," and immediately took it. She winced as the ice water hit her teeth in all the wrong ways. Ooh. They were buzzing _ and _ in pain, now, that was a great sensation. Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut, covering them, until her brain freeze started to ebb, and squinted through her fingers at the rest of the room.

It was, thank fuck, quiet. Dani was drop-dead exhausted; she sat close to Aubrey, close enough that she could feel the heat of her body radiating into her skin, leaning her head on Aubrey’s shoulder. Jake was in a folding chair across the table from her, elbows on knees, fingers folded beneath his chin, as he stared without blinking at one spot on the stained carpet. Vanessa, as was custom for her in meetings like this, leaned in the corner of the room nearest to the stairs, eyes flickering around the bunker. She favored her staff a bit more than usual, taking her weight off her left hip.

And to Aubrey's left, Mama was looking into the panic room door's window. Her hands were locked, motionless, behind her back.

Thacker could barely be seen inside the tiny room - but Aubrey could see flickers of movement, shadow blurring on shadow as a figure paced back and forth behind the door. Thacker seemed to move faster than usual; every now and then, Aubrey caught the flicker of light off a glossy black eye, or a bared tooth in a snarl of tangled beard.

Just as the door to the stairwell opened and Barclay and Ned's voices poured down, Thacker lunged for the door.

He moved with the speed of a hunting falcon, instead of the slow, careful lethargy of an injured turtle. Mama did not flinch, but her spine abruptly straightened, as if she was resisting the urge to leap backwards. Aubrey watched her, half out of her seat to go help - but she had no idea what she would have done. 

Mama seemed to hold her breath. Thacker's wide, pitch-black stare turned away, and he resumed pacing. Aubrey swallowed. "He okay?" she said quietly.

Mama sighed again. "Better 'n usual, I'd say," she said heavily, sinking into her customary chair at the head of the meeting table. Meeting table was a bit strong of a phrase to use, given how it was basically a bunch of card tables shoved together, but it was something. "I don't know what's up with him right now, he's actin' a bit squirrelly, but... haven't seen him this chipper since long before we left."

"Huh. He usually a, uh... spry kind of guy?"

"He walked the Appalachian Trail every year for shits 'n giggles, back in the day before he joined up with us," Mama said. "I'd call that pretty damn spry."

"Jesus, he's a damn superhero," Aubrey heard Ned say. Feet tramped down the stairs, and he and Barclay came into view. Barclay was wearing an incredibly loud Hawaiian-print shirt with his usual worn-out jeans. "And here I am. I can barely hike the Chicane Trail from the Cryptonomica to the Lodge."

"We picked y'all up on the corner of first when it looked like you were dyin' of heatstroke, Ned," came Duck's weary voice from behind him. "Don't be such a drama queen."

"Physically impossible," Indrid said flatly. Aubrey shook her head at Ned's indignant squawk, and sipped her water to hide her smile.

The four men came in and crowded around the table, shuffling for seats. Aubrey could feel the tension in the room rise as they came in - in the way Duck kept wringing his hands, in Ned’s fixed and stilted smile, how Indrid’s thumb kept rubbing over the corner of his journal. Barclay and Indrid both looked... strange, and it took Aubrey a moment to realize just what was wrong. Barclay looked like he'd gone without a haircut or a shave for a solid two years, and Indrid's hair looked as if he'd rubbed his head all over an old staticky TV; it stuck up in all directions, and in the fluorescent light its edges glowed with a soft feathery halo. 

"Yes, I look like a feather duster." 

Indrid’s journal hit the table with a soft _ thunk. _Aubrey’s eyes darted away from his hair and met his eyes. Her eyebrows went up; her vision was a bit blurry from her headache, but she knew her eyes weren't lying to her. Indrid's eyes seemed bloodshot; the light gleamed on them strangely, as if they were carved from multifaceted rubies. "No, I don't know why,” he continued. “My disguise is just... acting a bit oddly, that's all."

"Seems to be a bit of a pattern ‘round here," Mama said, just as the door creaked open again. There was muffled cursing, and a pair of polished dress shoes descended the stairs. "Oh, Stern! Thought you got lost on the way back, how's it goin'?"

Stern tiptoed down the stairs, carefully balancing two Starbucks drink trays against his chest. "Just peachy," he said thinly. He stared at both the trays as if the force of his gaze alone was enough to keep them up. "Can someone grab one of these before I drop it?"

"I got it," Duck said immediately. He shot up out of his chair, nearly tripping over it - Indrid steadied him with one hand - and ferried the tray over to the table. Aubrey got a good look at his face as he came back; Jesus, he looked like hell, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hair a mess. As they divvied up the drinks Stern had brought, he said nothing, just idly scraped his thumbnail against a dried coffee stain on the table. When Indrid tried to get his attention, he took a long time to respond.

He seemed almost... shaken by something. As if the morning's events - or something else - had scared the hell out of him. It didn't take a lot for Duck to look nervous about stuff, but Aubrey hadn't seen him look like this in a while. 

Dani sat down in the chair next to her, hands folded in her lap. Her skin still had that faint glow she had when her disguise ring was off. That knife in Aubrey's eye twisted as her migraine flared, as she looked at Dani, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

As she pinched the bridge of her nose, she heard Mama let out a long, bone-creaking sigh. "Okay. Y'all know why you're here, I'm guessin'. Had weird stuff happenin' to you. Migraines, disguises actin' weird, wakin' up feeling like you just ran a marathon even though you didn't do anything worse than play video games all day."

Jake sighed quietly.

"We gotta figure out what's at the bottom of this." Mama clutched her cup in both hands, thumbnail gently scraping against the order sticker on the side. "Just... gimme a rundown of things you've seen, things you've noticed these past few days. I gotta admit. This hit all of us by surprise, and I'll be damned if I've got any idea what's behind it."

There was a brief moment of silence - broken, eerily, by the sounds of Thacker's still-pacing footsteps, muffled by the closed door. Eventually, they stopped too. As if he was trying to listen in.

Barclay spoke up first. "Well. Guess I'm the most obvious." He gestured sheepishly at himself and scratched his beard. "Woke up like this, groggy as all hell, with my bracelet still on.” Indrid scribbled something down in his journal. “Scared every damn bodily fluid out of Ned when he saw me."

"Every?" Aubrey said. Duck gagged.

"I was just kidding, Jesus," Barclay said, sounding offended. "Trying to lighten the mood. Ned said he was gonna have to hit up Duck for some spare lint rollers, that's how bad it is."

"Well, we need them too," Indrid said. "This fuzz of mine isn't exactly couch-friendly. Give it a few more days, and I'll have Winnie beat."

"Fair."

"Sounds like what we had here," Jake said from the table. "Disguises tanked, and we were feeling pretty foggy. I could barely get out of bed this morning."

"And the three of us went for a walk early this morning," Dani added. Her head shifted slightly on Aubrey’s shoulder."To kind of loosen up, get some fresh air, maybe wake up a little. Jake and I didn't notice our disguises were falling apart until -"

"Until Aubrey pointed them out," Jake interrupted. He gave Dani a meaningful look; Dani frowned back, but let it go. "I dunno what would have happened if anyone had seen us, but shit would have been rough."

That was odd. Aubrey squinted at Jake, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. It was almost as if Jake was... defending Hollis. Granted, the biker hadn't exactly been hostile, but they'd clearly seen Jake's eyes take on an orange hue, and there was no way in hell that a person like Hollis would forget that. "Mm, yeah," she said slowly. Now that she was looking at Jake, his eyes seemed like they gleamed their original brown, and his hair had returned to its regular dyed blond. 

Hm. Interesting. From the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw Indrid glance up and follow her gaze. He clicked his pen and kept writing.

"Yeah, rough, but not as rough as things are for Moira," Vanessa said.

Alarmed, Barclay turned around so quickly his folding chair creaked. "Moira?" he repeated. "What's going on, what happened to her?"

Vanessa's mouth was twisted in a pinched, sour line. Aubrey could see a distinct worried glint in her eyes, though, as she said, "She's... dematerializing."

Aubrey's heart thudded into her stomach. Barclay yelped, _ "What?" _

"It's something we've been able to solve, temporarily," Mama said loudly, over the sudden outburst of panicked whispers. "She's gotta wear her ring to kinda... y'know, stay physical, but she ain't got enough magic to hold herself together without it. The ring’s gotta pull her weight. Without it, she'll go incorporeal and just phase right through the fuckin' floor."

"And she could stop, right?" Ned said. "At some point, she wouldn't like. Go through the core of the earth, or anything, and keep falling?" Duck cringed.

"If such a thing is possible, I would have seen it," Vanessa said sourly. "For her sake, I hope not."

"God, that'd be awful, though," Duck muttered, half to himself. "Used to have nightmares 'bout that shit when I was a kid."

"It wouldn't be a great fate, that's for sure," Mama said heavily. "We're gonna keep an eye on her, make sure she's okay, but there's no reversin' it. Not until we know what's causin' it in the first place. What - what about the rest of y'all, have you had anything weird or strange happen to you?"

Indrid and Duck glanced at each other, then looked away. Neither of them said anything.

"I'm... nah." Ned chuckled once. "I'm just - just a guy. I didn't have anything happen. Got scared half to death by Barclay this mornin’, though. Good thing I'm not allergic to him."

"Yeah, lucky you," Dani muttered. Barclay glared at her, but it didn't last; it softened into a wry grin almost as soon as it appeared. 

"I had a migraine and a nosebleed this morning," Aubrey piped up, raising her hand. "It's still - ow," she hissed, as she accidentally looked right into a fluorescent light. "Still going strong."

"I can get the lights if they're hurting you too much," Stern said, concerned.

"Nah, I'll live," Aubrey said, staring fixedly at the shadow cast by Dani's hands on the table. "I got - yeah, that's about it." 

Duck just shook his head, still staring at the stain on the table.

"Well."

Vanessa's voice was oddly strained. She had a white-knuckled grip on her staff, and was leaning on the wall beside her more than it. "Think it's rather obvious, now," she said. "Not quite sure why we had to assemble the bloody Avengers in here, if we could have just done a phone survey -"

Mama sighed, "Vanessa -"

"It's only affecting magic users or Sylphs, Mama," Vanessa said, "and folks who don't have a crystal got the short end of the stick. Clearly it's a problem with Sylvain. Something's gone wrong on their end. Case closed."

"More like case fuckin' opened, man," Duck interjected. Indrid gave him a concerned look. The whites of his eyes were melting back to normal. "This is a whole - it's a big can of worms, we -”

“Mixing the metaphor a bit, love,” Indrid murmured.

Duck seemed to ignore him. “Are we supposed to just sit around until the next full moon? It's a half moon tonight, we can't do shit with talkin' to Sylvain -"

"Duck," Mama said. "It's fine."

"It's really not," Dani said faintly.

"Well, let me at least try 'n keep up the illusion that it is for a minute or two." Mama slumped forward and ran her hands through her hair, elbows on the table. "We've got half a moon tonight,” she said to its scratched surface. “It'll be tougher than usual, for sure, and I really fuckin’ hate usin' the gate on days with less than full moonlight, but... We'll try and go through to Sylvain tonight."

“You sure?” Barclay said, looking right at her. Mama did not meet his eyes. “Mama, that’s - it’s not gonna be ideal, it’s gonna hurt like hell -”

Mama took a deep breath and let it out, looking straight up at the ceiling. "Christ," she muttered. "Yeah, Barclay, we gotta do it now. This counts as an emergency. This is way, way out of our fuckin' league."

* * *

There was something about the way the Lodge was built that made Aubrey feel like a small bird, cupped in a giant’s hand. The whole building radiated safety and comfort. Each of the wood-paneled walls caught the light; the Monongahela’s towering maples and pines arched over the glass dome ceiling, their gently twitching branches casting furry shadows over the room. Lying on one of the couches during the day and looking up at the ceiling was like looking up from the bottom of a pool.

Aubrey always felt safe, here. Protected. As if - and sometimes this felt almost embarrassing to think, as if she couldn’t believe it was true, but it felt as if she’d come home.

Today that feeling was all but gone, replaced with a cold uneasy weight in her stomach. She was last to leave the bunker, and took her time going up the stairs. Indrid and Duck walked in front of her; she could hear Indrid rifling through the pages of his journal as Duck softly asked him questions. Aubrey drained the last bit of water from her glass and stepped around them to go put it in the kitchen. The Lodge felt all the wrong kinds of quiet; she could hear faint whispers down every hall, and cold pockets of silence between them.

She put the glass in the sink. There were footsteps behind her - soft, slow, moving past the kitchen and down the hall. Aubrey leaned out the door and watched as Dani crept towards a door and slowly opened it. There were just shadows beyond, a faint grey glow of sunlight through old curtains on one wall, and the sounds of someone softly breathing. Jane and Evelyn were still asleep, it seemed.

Dani needed a moment; she’d come back later. Just as Aubrey turned back to the kitchen to get a real breakfast, she heard someone clear her throat behind her. “Hey, Aubrey?”

She whipped around, her sunglasses almost slipping off her nose. “Oh, hey, Stern,” she said. “What’s up?”

If Aubrey didn’t know better, she’d honestly think Stern was a cryptid just like everyone else at the Lodge. Living here had filed off some of his sharper edges - he’d given up on keeping a short regulation haircut and had started just combing it back as it grew, the parts sticking out of the back making him look a bit like a startled bird. But he still washed and ironed all his clothes on Saturday mornings, polished his shoes whenever they looked even a bit scuffed, and had a daily schedule so strict you could set a watch by him.

Today, though, he looked as much of a mess as Garfield Stern could possibly look. He’d rolled his sleeves up and jammed his hands into his pockets; there were faint flecks of coffee on his shirt where the Starbucks drinks had sloshed around, and he looked… well, just fucking tired. “You have a minute?” he said wearily.

“I mean, sure?” Aubrey said tentatively. “I don’t exactly have a full calendar - or - well, a calendar at all, or -”

Stern laughed softly. “Yeah, well, neither do I these days, really,” he said. “Listen - I…”

Something was bothering him. Aubrey’d gotten good at reading the guy over the past few months - mostly out of a deep, deep mistrust when he first showed up, since decoding his attitude towards the Lodge used to feel like life or death. She could tell he was torn up over a lot of things. “We can talk, it’s chill,” she said easily.

“It’s... “ Stern sighed heavily. “It’s important enough that I need to talk with Mama about it,” he said. “And I want you to be there when I do.”

A faint, cold trickle of dread went through her, curling in her stomach like a snake. “Uh.”

“It’s nothing bad, it’s just important, I promise,” Stern said, raising his hands. “I - if anyone’s in deep shit, it’s me.”

“That’s not really reassuring,” Aubrey said faintly. “But okay, I’ll bite.” Stern tilted his head towards Mama’s office, and they wove through the main room’s furniture to get to her door.

The door was cracked open; Stern tapped softly on it, and the hushed voices within immediately stopped. Barclay and Mama were in the middle of a worried conversation. “Sorry to interrupt,” Stern said hastily, “but… Mama, we need to have a chat about something important.”

“Oh, shit,” Barclay said, backing away from Mama’s desk. “I - Mama, we can pick this up when y’all are done -”

“Sure, sure,” Mama said. “Don’t sweat it.” As Barclay skittered out the door, she took a deep breath and grabbed the coffee that Stern had brought her, holding onto it like a lifeline. "Alright, what's goin' on?" she sighed. "This 'bout what happened this morning? Because I sure don't have any answers for ya, not right now."

Stern slowly sank into one of the chairs on the other side of Mama's desk, both hands braced on the arms. "Well," he said. He gave Aubrey a meaningful look; Aubrey slid over to the other chair and sat awkwardly in it. "Not really. It's something completely different."

Mama frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"And I take complete responsibility for it, it's definitely my fault," Stern went on. "I, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and glanced at Aubrey. Her stomach lurched again. "Someone at the main office left a voicemail. In the first report I made on everyone, I included a whole lot of names and stuff I found. They picked the report apart, ran random background checks on everyone I named."

"Not liking where this is going, Stern," Mama said flatly.

"Yeah, neither am I," Stern said. "Uh. It's not something my department is working with, but... it was Aubrey's name."

Oh, God. Aubrey went completely still in her chair; it was as if someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed, so hard she could feel her chest starting to hurt. Bridgeport. The fire. Oh, no, oh, fuck -

Mama seemed unfazed. "Oh?"

"They - it was some kind of arson investigation," Stern said. "I don't - they didn't tell me all the details of what happened, just the fact that Aubrey might've been a witness -"

"I didn't do it."

Aubrey didn't realize she'd spoken until Mama and Stern looked at her, shocked. "I swear, I didn't do it," she said shakily, clenching both fists on top of her thighs. Mama's face softened, turning almost pained. The memory of that conversation in the hospital room, after the Pizza Hut incident, stabbed into her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "It wasn't me. It wasn't."

Chair legs dragged across the carpet, in a soft shuffle. "And I believe you."

Aubrey's eyes flew open. Stern had turned his chair slightly to face her, and was leaning across one of the chair's arms. "I don't think it was you that set the fire, Aubrey, that didn't once cross my mind," he said firmly. "It doesn't matter to me, and I don't think any less of you. Okay?"

That shouldn't have made Aubrey feel as good as it did, but she'd take it. "Thanks," she said feebly. "I don't - what did you tell them?"

"Yeah, Stern, tell me you said she was gone," Mama said wearily. She set down her coffee cup. "If your first report was as comprehensive as you're sayin' it was, then if you gave 'em any other reasons to send folks like you here, then we're gonna have to have a real long chat."

"I didn't, I swear," Stern said. He pulled a folded sheet of notebook paper, torn from some kind of pad, out of his shirt pocket and passed it to mama. "Those are the notes that I took from Haynes' conversation with me."

"Hanes like the underwear, or -?"

"No, with a Y, like that," Stern said, pointing at a word on the paper. Aubrey craned her neck to see. Mama took notes on a pad of sticky notes. "Though he can be a smelly, skeevy piece of shit sometimes." Mama smirked. "I told Haynes to tell Bridgeport PD that Aubrey'd moved on from here, after doing a show at the Lodge, and gone up north."

"Where?"

"Chicago," Stern said plainly. Mama chuckled. "Yeah, bit of a stretch, but I figured it would work. Also mentioned she was thinking of going to New York."

"Let's hope they just don't try to follow through on that tip," Mama said. "I don't think that's how it works if it's an out of state case, but you can't be too careful." She sighed at the piece of paper one last time and slid it across the desk to Aubrey. Aubrey unfolded it and skimmed it. Jesus, Stern's handwriting was terrible - the only thing about the man that wasn't perfectly polished. She was able to pick out the word "manslaughter," though, and flinched, refolding the paper and giving it to Stern. "So... what do you think we need to watch out for?"

"Agents," Stern said plainly. "I hate everything about it and I take full responsibility for it, but the fact that the FBI is actually communicating with folks, especially my old department... I don't like the sound of it."

"So you're saying," Aubrey said, "that they might send more people like you? Is that it?"

Stern looked at her, mouth twisted into a displeased line. "They shouldn't have any reason to," he said. "But the fact that my report went through UP first, in context of the original reason I was sent here, well. I know the people I used to work with. They might send someone. They might not. They might think I'm enough."

A floorboard creaked on the other side of the door.

The three of them turned around and stared, but there was nobody there. Mama sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hopefully they do," she muttered, "because I don't wanna deal with a full Men In Black team of ya strolling through my place and getting mud all over the carpet. Stern, you gonna be checking voicemail and such every week, now, or -"

"They want me to check every day, even though I've explained what an ordeal it is."

"Maybe compromise and shoot for every other day?"

"That's possible."

"That's good. Whatever you end up coming up with, just make sure you take notes and pass it along to us," Mama said. "I want to be kept up to date on what's goin' on on their side, because... Christ. We've been here before. With you, with other Mulder and Scully types tryin' to figure out our game. We know all too well that if your folks get wind of us, things could get real fuckin' bad. And Aubrey?"

Mama’s gaze landed on her - warm, full of understanding and a deep, deep kindness that made Aubrey’s throat sting. “You don’t have to follow up with them, at all,” she said. “You got no obligation. You do what makes you comfortable, and if they ever start tryin’ to find you, then you just let us know. We’ll do everything we can to keep things right for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Aubrey said in a small voice. Mama gave her a faint smile, and Aubrey felt a sudden strong urge to leap over the desk and hug her. She swallowed and looked down. “Thank you. It’s - thank you so much.”

The floorboards creaked again. Aubrey didn't bother turning around this time. Just the old building settling; she knew there was nobody there.

* * *

The FBI. Stern's department - they had names, details, faces. They'd taken his first report seriously. They had information that he swore would never get out, ever again. And it was so, so hard not to get mad at Stern, because the man obviously felt bad for what he'd done, but...

Wind howled through the trees overhead; branches knocked on the roof, the pine needles skittering across the glass dome like rapping fingernails. He took a deep, deep breath, so deep his ribs hurt, and went to the kitchen. The rest of his conversation with Mama could wait. He needed to get some breakfast in him first. And then... and then.

Barclay would figure it out. He always did.

* * *

Saturday dragged on, tense and painful and too excruciating for such a sunny day in mid-May. The Pine Guard split and moved on with their weekend as best they could. Ned went to work; Indrid stayed holed up at the Lodge, comparing notes with Mama and Vanessa. Barclay, Duck and Aubrey ran errands, each burning off their own nervous steam. Jake took an extended soak in the hot springs with many of the other Sylphs, trying to get the last scraps of energy that they could. And Evelyn and Jane woke up so close to lunch that they almost missed it. Mama got them caught up on the day's events and plans.

It was days like this that Gary realized just how bizarre the Pine Guard was. Adults with day jobs; sorcerers; aliens from another planet, of all ages. Such a strange group of people, brought together by bizarre circumstances. And days like this really reminded him just how close he'd come to not being one of them.

As night fell, the rest of the Pine Guard geared up to go to Sylvain. Stern had never gone and had no inclination to - he suspected that Earthling law enforcement, no matter how lapsed that had become, wouldn't be welcome there - and holed himself up in the kitchen with his laptop to get started on his monthly report. "You're going to be okay, right?" he asked them, as they double-checked each other for Pine Guard patches and double-checked their plans.

"Yeah, we'll live," Duck sighed, adjusting his coat. Beacon, looped through the belt loops of Duck's pants, muttered something vaguely insulting, and Duck sighed heavily. "Beacon, shut the hell up."

_ "Forgive _ me for lacking confidence in the man who left me to _ fester _ in swampy, half-frozen lakewater for _ two weeks _ after his clumsy fingers let me go," Beacon said, his voice dripping with oily malice. Duck's jaw clenched.

"Low blow," Indrid commented, his voice steely; Gary was inclined to agree. Mentioning Lake Fisher around Duck was a god-awful thing to do. "We pulled you out of Lake Fisher, yes, but I'll be more than happy to put you back."

"I'd like to see you try," Beacon sneered.

"I'd like to see you shut up, Christ on a crutch," Duck groaned. "Yeah, it'll be fine, Stern. If anything goes wrong with goin' through, Jake'll run right back and tell you to come get us."

"Is going through the gate without a full moon that bad?" Ned said nervously. "What's it gonna do to us?"

"It won't do anything permanent, if we do it right," Mama said. She adjusted her duster and shotgun, picking a stray leaf out of the jacket. "We'll still need folks on this side on standby in case there's any serious injury, but y'know. It's like IBS."

"It is nothing like IBS," Barclay said plainly.

"God-awful thing that really gets ya if you're not careful and so much as stand the wrong way? I'm inclined to say yes," Mama said, raising her eyebrows at him. "You got a better metaphor?"

"It's gonna be fine," Jake said. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and he sounded oddly sober. More so than usual. "I'll keep an eye on things, it'll be okay." 

"Yeah, Jake's got it," Aubrey said, cheerfully mussing his hair. Jake swatted her hand away, but he was smiling. "C'mon, let's get going - if we wait any longer, the moon'll be gone."

Dusky, purple-red light filled the main room of Amnesty Lodge; in the summer the setting sun seemed to light the Monongahela on fire, and it was really something beautiful to see. The half moon, though, peaked at sunset and sunrise, which was really unfortunate; it would be hard to tell if the moonlight was even shining on the gate. And at this time of year, hikers might still be wandering around.

They waited until the sun had gone down and the moon had passed its peak; faint light filtered through the trees, glimmering on the edges of the geodesic dome's triangular panels. As Barclay, Mama, Duck, Aubrey and Ned filed out the door to go to the gate, Gary sighed and opened his laptop, staring down the blank spaces in the outline of his report. 

There they went. Having all the fun without him.

He wasn't alone, though - the rest of the Lodge's residents were milling around, grabbing some last snacks before bedtime or settling in for the night. Indrid had headed back to his and Duck's apartment fr the night to feed their cat, but the rest of the Lodge was relatively full. Dr. Harris Bonkers hopped through the dining room several times; on his last pass-through, he stopped by Gary's ankles, sniffed the hem of his pants, and flopped over one foot, idly chewing on the laces of his other shoe. "Come on, buddy," Gary muttered, reaching under the table to scratch Dr. Harris Bonkers' ears. "Couldn't you pick a better pair of shoes to nibble on?"

"He's just freezin' up because he knows I'm done looking for him."

Gary glanced up. Dani walked into the dining room, followed by Evelyn, who was paging through an old issue of _ National Geographic _ with one hand and idly fidgeting with a pen in the other. "He just wants attention, and now that I'm not chasin' him he's throwin' a pity party," Dani sighed, clicking her tongue. Dr. Harris Bonkers stopped chewing on Gary's shoelaces and peered out from under the table, nose twitching. "He likes parsley. Future reference."

Gary nodded slowly, committing it to memory. He couldn't recall the last time he'd fed Dr. Harris Bonkers. Hell - he didn't think he ever had. "Oh," he said. "I'll - I'll remember that."

Evelyn flopped down into the chair opposite him, still reading the _ National Geographic _ magazine. "Yeah, now that you're here to stay, you gotta get used to it," she said, grinning. Dani raised her eyebrows at her sister, but Evelyn didn't seem to notice. "What're you working on?"

"A report," Gary said, swallowing awkwardly. "Uh -"

"You fakin' it?" Dani said.

"Well, of course," he said.

Dani and Evelyn looked at each other and grinned. "Oho," Evelyn said, "do I have some ideas for you."

"I am _ terrified _right now," Gary said flatly, opening his laptop just a bit more and waking it up. "Do tell."

The three of them stayed crowded around the dining room table for well over an hour, shooting random ideas back and forth. Some were serious; some were jokes that Gary never would have come up with on his own; others were so ridiculous and yet made so much sense that it would take a serious read-through to even see there was something wrong. 

"It's a weird balance you gotta make," Evelyn said, tapping the top of Gary's laptop screen with her pen. "You're convincing them that Kepler's as boring as Kansas, but you also gotta make 'em curious enough about this place that they don't pull you out."

"I dunno," Dani said quietly. "Kansas is pretty bonkers, have you heard about the butterfly people?"

"Dan, that's Missouri."

"Focus in, guys, come on," Gary said, making a mental note to do some Googling the next time he went to Snowshoe. "Let’s go back to that. Any other ideas?"

"We're pretending Aubrey left?" Dani said. "Well. You've _ got _ to include something about me pining after my lost love, wherever she may roam -"

"Pining, lost love," Gary muttered under his breath, hunting and pecking each letter. "Okay. Check."

"Wait, no, seriously? I was just kidding - "

"Dan, you're pining now, for fuck's sake -"

"Let her miss her girlfriend, Evelyn, she's got the right." Gary grinned at Dani's stormy expression, and deleted the last few words. "You've got a point, though. If we're pretending Aubrey went to Chicago, we need a few details to make it real."

"Make up some burned drywall and write about that," Evelyn suggested. Dani quietly mouthed _ make up? _ next to her, and pointedly ignored Gary's raised eyebrows. "We can pretend we went to Lowes. We _ have _ to go to Lowes, the ceiling in the room above mine has some water damage."

"Take that up with Mama," Dani said. She scrunched up her nose. "Would that be - it might be an insurance thing, I dunno -"

Evelyn's pen, which she'd been spinning between her fingers like a drumstick, suddely ricocheted out of her hands and skidded into the living room. Dani giggled. "Shit!" Evelyn muttered, standing up. Her chair legs screeched on the hardwood. "Yeah, it's insurance for sure, it's a whole thing." She tried to grab her pen, but accidentally knocked it with her foot and sent it spinning under the couch. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"I can get it for you," Dani called.

"No, it's okay, I got it -"

Gary's eyes drifted from the sofa to the thick curtains. Something moved behind the cracked-open window: a shifting branch, a trick of the moonlight. A shape, though: distinct and hulking, and almost...

Humanoid. The curtains parted slightly with the breeze. His eyes narrowed. That was hair, shimmering in the moonlight. 

There was somebody outside the window.

He immediately closed his laptop, wincing at the faint click of the latch. "Stay down," he said evenly. Evelyn and Dani both froze; Evelyn slowly flattened herself against the floor, and Dani settled back into her chair. As if sensing something was wrong, Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD. hopped off Gary's foot and ran for the kitchen.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in the back of his mind. Gary slowly unfolded himself; his hand flicked to where his holster would be, but his fingertips met fabric. Shit. That's right; he'd started leaving his gun in his dresser drawer. He'd have to make do with something else. Gary moved around the back of the table and slunk along the Lodge's front wall, keeping one eye on the window.

There was a faint whisper of dry rubber on wood: someone was opening the window. Gary caught a glimpse of bloody, scraped knuckles, the beginnings of a tattoo on a wrist. He silently grasped a bit of the curtain.

The window slid the rest of the way open, and a figure folded themselves through. As if he was trying to catch a wet dog with a towel before it started shaking water everywhere, Gary ripped the curtain off the rod and caught the person's head just as they came through. There was a strangled yell. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dani grab one of the dining room chairs and pick it up. "Wait," Gary grunted. "Not - not yet." The intruder started wriggling around, trying to get out of the curtain; their head started to come through. He caught a glimpse of greying hair, disheveled and shaggy, crusted on one side with dried blood. Gary let the curtain slip a bit, until it was falling down around the intruder's shoulders.

Then he punched them in the side of the thigh - lot of muscle there, Jesus - and wrapped the curtain around their arms while the pain distracted them. The curtain was unwieldy and tough to wrap, but he managed it well enough. 

"Wait, what the fuck?" he heard Dani say. 

Feet clattered down the stairs. It looked like Evelyn took advantage of the fight to go get Vanessa. Well, there was still a bit more work that Gary could do. He dropped and kicked the back of the intruder's knees, sending them toppling to the ground, and put a knee on their stomach. "Don't move," he said curtly. "Move, and I'll..."

He trailed off. The person he was kneeling on - a scruffy-looking man, with dried blood on one side of his head and a godawful amount of dead grass in his hair - wasn't giving him the disgruntled, angry look he was expecting. He looked _ surprised. _ As if he didn't think this was going to happen at all. This was... not what Gary was expecting.

"What?" he said. He winced, shifting slightly on the ground, and Gary pressed his knee into his stomach. "You'll what? Think you got me pinned pretty good, mate, moving's not an option anymore."

And oh, great, he was _ British. _ This was getting even worse.

"Stern. Get off him."

Vanessa's sudden, sharp voice was like a whip across Gary's back. He scrambled backwards, stepping away from the man's prone body, as Vanessa came forward. She was holding her staff, and it seemed to glow from within with the faintest blue light. This was serious enough for her to try to use magic, even in her weakened state. Gary looked at the faint light radiating through the cracks in her staff and swallowed.

Then she pointed her staff at the strange man, opened her mouth and said... something. Something in Latin, that sounded almost like a question.

Gary's eyes flicked between the two of them.

The man swallowed with difficulty, but did not look away. Then he said something else, also in Latin. Vanessa sighed with visible relief and tossed her staff onto the couch. It released a faint puff of blue mist as it hit the leather. She extended the free hand to the man on the floor; he untangled himself from the curtains and took it. Gary stared as Vanessa hauled him off the floor and into a full-body, bone-crushing hug with both arms.

"Holy shit," he heard Dani whisper, setting down the chair. "Holy shit, holy _ shit _ -"

"I'm missing something here," Gary said, pointing at the man. Jesus Christ, he was a fucking mountain- the top of his head came to Vanessa's eye level, which was no easy feat, and his broad shoulders nearly obscured her. "I - Vanessa? What the hell? Was that some kind of password, or -"

"Put the curtain back on, and we'll talk," Vanessa said, eyes closed. The man was patting her on the back. 

"But -"

He stopped, as the man let go of Vanessa. "Shit's fucked, man, shit's absolutely fucked," he was saying to her. Evelyn immediately threw her arms around the stranger in a hug, and he returned it. Gary’s eyes narrowed. "I need your help."

"So does everyone these days, it feels like," she said wearily.

"Vanessa, _ who is he? _" Gary snapped. The man glanced at him and gave him a once-over, one eyebrow raised. "I don't - don't look at me like that, I don't even -"

"Don't get twisted up, darling, there's not much for me to look at," the man said sourly. He turned to Vanessa and hissed, not very quietly, "What the _ hell _ is a bloody fucking cop doing in the Lodge? Is Mama out of her _ mind?" _

"I'll explain, lay off of him," Vanessa snapped. 

"Vanessa, listen," Gary said wearily, and the Scottish woman glared at him. "I - look, I get you two know each other, and so does everyone else in the room, from the looks of it, but I'm out of the loop. He sort of broke in without warning, and forgive me if I’m a bit suspicious. Who is this?"

Vanessa took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Gary waited patiently, arms crossed across his chest. The strange man gave him another once-over and squinted at him, eyes glittering with something unknown but extremely unsettling. "This," she said evenly, after a few moments, "is Boyd Mosche. And from the sounds of it, we're gonna have to have a chat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There he is!! _There he is!!!!!!!_ Mr. Mosche himself, British asshole extraordinaire, is back in the game! I'm happy to get back in his head again - writing about him for TMWCIFTC and in TDWDTG was super fun, and I'm excited to get the rest of his arc down on paper. If you don't like Boyd, 1) valid, and 2) he bears like no resemblance to canon boyd because literally the moment i finished his character arc for tmwciftc griff came in and made him Not a clean slate that i could slap things all over. Thanks, griff. I feel like that was an omen.
> 
> I get the feeling that this story is already moving kind of fast, but then again, it's a sequel? But then again, this is only chapter 2. So if there's anything that you think needs expanding on or would be cool to see, let me know! I've got a solid plan for the rest of the story but any suggestions or requests would be more than welcome! Hit me in the comments or [send me an ask!](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) Thanks so much for reading!


	3. A Gathering Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:
> 
> \- [the Mii Channel theme, but the pauses are uncomfortably long](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q7oJuyy5Ac)  
\- ["Violin Partita No. 2 in D Minor" by Johann Sebastian Bach \- ](https://open.spotify.com/track/5S94PIQplSfBHZXsZowyGY?si=gKhpbNVDSyaPY_AsvhWG0w)[the rest of the TCOS playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ?si=-mbNEt5KTdu2xXdKw1esiA)

Boyd Mosche was built like a brick shithouse.

A handsome brick shithouse, to be fair, but still a shithouse. Gary literally didn't have a more polite way to put it. Honestly, though, he doubted that if he had a more polite way, he would use it. He was square-jawed, sharp-faced, with broad shoulders and tattoos blanketing every bare inch of his arms. His clothes were dusty and bloodstained, as if he'd crawled out from the wreckage of a collapsed building, and he sat at an angle - most likely taking some weight off cracked ribs.

And those injuries. Good grief. He had a swollen, split lip, and a deep purple bruise bloomed on his jaw; blood was crusted on the side of his head. His dark grey T-shirt was torn in places, and the skin underneath was scratched. Judging from the way he'd cried out as Gary took him down with the curtain, he had a bum right hip.

Details, details, details. None of them an answer, just questions upon questions. Everything about him was setting off alarms in Gary's head. What he wouldn't give to go for the handcuffs sitting on his dresser right now. He leaned against the wall behind the man, memorizing every detail - as if preparing a report on him. If Boyd proved to be a liability, he just might have to. Everyone else in the room seemed to trust Mr. Boyd Mosche, but he just wasn't buying it.

"So, Boyd." 

Evelyn sat right next to him, arms folded on the table, her full attention on him. "It's - God, you're back, I - I almost don't know what to think."

"Yeah?" The corner of the man's mouth crooked up, in a gently roguish smile. "Got the impression you were right pleased to see me, that's all I need to know."

Gary glanced at Evelyn, then at Boyd. The minute Vanessa had released Boyd, Evelyn had charged him and wrapped him in a hug of her own. They were clearly close friends - they'd probably known each other before Evelyn disappeared. But who was he?

"Yeah, we all are," Dani said softly. "But why are you here, Boyd?"

"Not that we're not happy you're back," Evelyn said. "But what's - what happened to you, after you left?"

"Listen, Eves," Boyd sighed, slumping forward and giving her a serious look. "I think we might be ignoring the elephant in the room, here. Or the narc, as it were."

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. Gary took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Stern's functionally harmless," Dani said, giving him a warning look. He stared indignantly.

Boyd's shoulders went rigid. "Stern? _ Stern? _ I heard that right, did I?" he said, turning all the way around. "His name is _ Stern?" _ Gary gave him a challenging glare, as the man's eyes narrowed. He gave Gary a long, scraping once-over that lasted nearly five seconds, from head to toe and back up. The back of Gary's neck prickled with annoyance. 

Then Boyd scoffed. "Suits him," he muttered. "What's your first name, then, mate? 'Serious'?"

"What? Serious St -" Then it clicked. Gary snorted. Boyd blinked, surprised. "Oh, congratulations," he said. "You've successfully made me feel like I'm back in elementary school."

"Lovely," Boyd said flatly. "This is primary school, then? Do I get a gold star?"

"Children. Stop it."

Vanessa's voice cut through the room like a sharp Arctic breeze. Gary immediately felt bad, and to his surprise, he saw Boyd's face twist with something like remorse. Seems like Vanessa's authority was truly universal. "He has my trust," she says firmly, "and that should be good enough for you."

"Really?" Boyd said. Then he paused. "Wait - who were you talking to, me or Mulder over there?"

"Both of you," she said, each word a pointed dagger. "But mostly you, Boyd. Stern's one of us, and has been for some time now. You can speak freely around him." Her eyes flicked to him again, a silent gesture of inquiry. Gary swallowed and nodded. The laptop on the table was closed, but its contents... he knew the hole he was trying to patch. The memory of his first report - the one that had gotten Aubrey in hot water with the Bridgeport Police Department - sat heavy in his stomach.

"You're serious?" Boyd said flatly.

"No, he is," Evelyn said, pointing at Gary. Dani snorted.

Boyd ignored both of them, staring incredulously at Vanessa. "You're fucking serious, Vanessa?" he hissed. "He's a bloody cop!"

"FBI agent, actually," Dani supplied, and Evelyn elbowed her.

"That's not any fucking better -!"

"If it's any consolation," Gary said over Boyd, "that's not exactly a permanent position, or an omniscient one. I -"

"Oh, look at you with all the big words," Boyd muttered. "Fucking hell, I'm sick of the intellectuals."

"Intellectuals is a big word," Gary pointed out.

"Shut up."

_ "Stop." _

If her voice was an iceberg, Vanessa could sink a fleet of Titanics with it. "I'm getting sick of this," she said. "We have more important things to deal with at the moment. Sort out your differences later. Boyd, you've been gone for seven fucking years, alright? I've got questions about that, what the hell happened after you left us?" _ Seven _years? That didn’t sound right. If Boyd had known Evelyn before she disappeared, they could only have known each other before 1998, and not after. Right?

Boyd grit his teeth, and then winced, probing at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "Hm," he said. "Bit my cheek, there. Fuck."

"It'll go away. What happened?"

"Nothing... glorious or glamorous, really. Went on a bit of a crime spree after I left you all. It's not something I'm proud of, frankly - don't want to talk about it more than I have to." He heaved a great sigh. "Long story short, I got arrested in '13, and just now got out."

"What, released on parole?" Dani ventured.

Boyd was silent.

"Good behavior?" Evelyn said. _ Bit of a stretch, probably, _Gary wanted to say, but he bit his tongue.

Boyd sucked in a breath through his teeth and sunk into his chair.

Evelyn's mouth fell open. "You _ broke out?" _ she said gleefully. Boyd grimaced and nodded.

A bolt of lightning went down Gary's spine. "Stop, wait," he said. "Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars - you _ broke out of jail? _Are you fucking serious right now? Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re putting us in, being here?" Vanessa’s eyebrows flew up.

"Well, it's not like I had a choice, mate, my bracelet fucking gave out!" Boyd snapped, holding up his wrist. A leather strip was tied around it, its torn edges clearly knotted hastily without much care for how it looked - just practicality. A small red and silver charm dangled from it, next to a muted chunk of crystal that looked like a hunk of colorless quartz. 

The flash of his wrist distracted Gary; he opened his mouth to say something, but thought better and closed it. His eye was drawn away from the bracelet completely. Boyd had a strange geometric tattoo on his wrist: a seven-sided shape, each edge equal in length, filled with an intricate pattern that he couldn't quite parse. Skillfully done, though. He added it to his mental file on the man.

The man's fist clenched, and he lowered his hand to the table. Gary glanced away from the tattoo on Boyd's wrist to his face, and met the man's narrowed eyes. They were a strange shade of blue-green - not quite the blue of Duck's right eye - and their depths had a distinct orange sheen to it.

Boyd raised an eyebrow. Gary shook himself and looked away.

"The crystal lost power?" Vanessa said. She leaned over the table to get a better look. "What happened?"

"Well, obviously, it failed," Boyd said, after a brief pause. "Bit of a problem, that is, when you suddenly have a heretofore-unseen personal belonging with you, with a giant sharp rock attached to it in a jail cell. Not very inconspicuous. They take fucking everything off you in jail, all your jewelry, even earring studs and -"

"I know, I've been in jail before," Vanessa said. Gary stared.

Boyd gestured to his left, at a wide-eyed Dani and a slightly less surprised Evelyn. "That was more for their benefit than yours, Ness," he said. "But yeah. Invisibility spell crapped out, my disguise item was seen, and the bloody disguise itself went out a bit." He chuckled to himself, a soft, wheezy thing that sounded like air escaping from a bike tire. "Gave my cellmate a fucking fright when he saw the teeth, and the wings, and all that."

"Teeth?" Gary repeated. _"Wings?"_

"Is there an echo in here?" Boyd glanced between Evelyn and Vanessa, before turning and giving Gary a bored look. Vanessa had the audacity to smirk. "Yes, the teeth, mate, don't you know what I am?"

"I don't even know _ who _you are, so forgive me," Gary said dryly.

Evelyn's eyebrows flew up. "Wait. We didn't tell you?" There was a faint flicker of sheepishness on Vanessa's face, but it quickly vanished.

Boyd blinked, turning to look at Evelyn. He winced, and pressed a hand to his ribs. "Tell him what?" he said, face pinched as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "Honestly, the less he knows the better, I think, but that's just me -"

"Stern, you weren't in the room when Evie came back, were you?" Dani said softly. Evelyn cursed.

Gary shook his head, shifting awkwardly against the wall. "No, it... didn't seem like the right time," he admitted. "I - just stayed back, and Vanessa caught me up on what happened."

"Yeah, well, I gave you the Sparknotes version," Vanessa said, giving him an apologetic grimace. "About how a friend of mine saved Evelyn's life, brought her to Berkeley Springs. Well, that friend?" She tilted her head towards the man at the end of the table, to her left. "That friend was Boyd."

Boyd gave Gary a sarcastic half-salute.

"Are you joking?" Gary said faintly. "Are you -"

He stared at the man, fully taking him in now. Every scrape, every piece of grass in his hair - and good lord, there were a lot of them - everything from the bruises on his knuckles to his swollen split lip and the curl of a tattoo up the side of his neck. This man had broken into the Lodge like a common burglar. He'd been in jail for six years, and had been desperate enough to break out, violently enough to get injured in the process. Gary had had to take him down with the fucking curtains. 

And yet, he was also the man who saved Evelyn's life, after she took that plunge off the waterfall. It didn't make sense to him. So much contradiction in one man. Perhaps it was his old prejudices from the FBI that were making him so suspicious, but he couldn't choose just what to think about the man.

"I'm hearing the gears turning," Boyd said, voice clipped. He stood up and clapped Gary on the shoulder, wincing slightly. Injured fingers, probably. "Ness, while our secret agent friend is spontaneously combusting, give me a rundown. What've I missed?" Vanessa pushed back from the dining room table and led Boyd into the living room, gazing around for something to start with. Gary slowly sank into Boyd's vacated chair and pulled his laptop towards him.

His mind, though, was buzzing. The night wound on, and on, and Gary tried to write more of his report, but nothing seemed to come out. He could feel Boyd orbiting around him, prowling through each empty room and asking about everyone, and Vanessa was giving him the answers as best she could. The slurry of their accents, blending together, Scottish into some ungodly mix of British and Australian, made it almost impossible to listen in. 

Once, his laptop's monitor fell asleep; in the slick black mirror of its surface, he could see Boyd sitting on the sofa, hunched over his knees and staring at the coffee table as Vanessa softly talked. She seemed to be giving him hard news. 

He kept watching the two of them, until his screen woke up again and he was faced with the mostly-blank Word document for his report.

It was nearly eleven when he heard a deep, raspy sigh. "Well, if what you're telling me is true," Boyd's voice said, "I need to sleep on it. I'm turning in." 

"Good choice," Vanessa said. Gary shut down his laptop and watched in the reflection as Vanessa put a hand on Boyd's shoulder. She said something quiet to him, leaning in close, and Boyd seemed reluctant to meet her eyes - but he nodded once. She released him and gently shoved him towards the wing of the hotel where Gary's room was. There was an empty room across from Gary's, he knew. Boyd could make himself at home there.

And then he watched, aghast, as Boyd completely bypassed the empty room and turned left, shoving open the door to Gary's own bedroom.

"Wait, wait, no, what the fuck," he stammered, leaping out of his chair and racing to the bedroom with his laptop under his arm. Vanessa leaned out of the way as he passed. "Mr. Mosche, no, what do you think you're doing -"

An indignant British voice rolled out through the open door. "What the hell happened to my room, Vanessa?"

"Mama rented it out, I'm afraid," Vanessa called back. 

Boyd made a loud, disgusted noise, and there was a faint thump as a door bounced off the wall. "Well, when she gets back I'll have to have a chat with her," he said curtly. "This is a right nasty _ mess." _

Gary marched into the room. "Get out of my room, Mr. Mosche," he said firmly.

"Or what, you'll shoot me?" Boyd scoffed. He stood in the center of the room, hands on his hips. "I'm immune to your little... breath mints of ordinary human bullets, darling. You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

"Well, whatever gets you out of here, I'm willing to try," Gary said through gritted teeth. He put his laptop down on the desk. "There's an open room right across the hall."

"No." Boyd shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "No, no no no... that won't do, not at all."

"Well, we're not going to fucking _ share -" _

"The curtains, you prick."

Gary froze. "What?"

Boyd grabbed a fistful of the curtains - less than a month old, matching the rest of the Lodge decor perfectly, bought new from the Walmart in Summersville - and snapped, "What happened to the old ones?"

"They were full of dust, I was getting congested to hell and back!" Gary said. "What the fuck else was I supposed to do -"

"Wash them?"

"No! They were hideous, I wasn't -"

"And the chair!" Boyd exploded, gesturing at the armchair on the other side of Gary's desk, near the foot of the bed. "Why'd you move it from under the window? It was perfectly fine by the window!"

Granted, the man may have been right about that bit - but it wasn't as if Gary hadn't needed it there. Barclay had moved it there after the Ashminder attack in January, so that Gary could use it as support to get out of bed while his stitches were healing. "I had my reasons," he said, through gritted teeth. "Don't question them. It's my room."

"Well, it was mine long before you showed up," Boyd said loftily. "And I hate what you've done with the place. Look, how do you even get out of bed with that there? It blocks the way to the - the bathroom." He trailed off, an aghast look on his face, and stared at the corner by the closet. "The coat tree."

"Yes, that's a coat tree," Gary said, nodding at it. "Very astute, Mr. Mosche, another gold star."

"Why'd you move it out of the fucking bathroom?"

"Because it wasn't supposed to be in the bathroom!"

"I needed to hang my towels!"

Gary gaped at him. "Mr. Mosche,” he said faintly, “are you seriously telling me you hung your bath towels on the _ coat tree?" _

"Well, what else was I supposed to use it for, coats?" he scoffed.

"Yes, _ it's in the fucking name!" _

"Mate, that's what the closet is for!" 

Gary opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything to argue with that. "See? Got you there, Agent J," Boyd said, with a cheeky half-grin. Gary scowled.

The man made a beeline for the closet across from the bathroom, pulling the door open wider with a loud squeal of hinges. Gary winced. The man started rifling through his clothes, then, slamming the hangers from side to side. "Where is it, where is it?" he muttered. He paused to pinch the fabric of one of Gary's shirts, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, and let out an appreciative huff, before continuing to dig through the closet like a dog trying to unearth a bone.

"Where's what? If you want to borrow one of my ties, you can just ask," Gary said curtly.

"Hush, you," Boyd said, without turning. "This was my room, before your secret agent arse sauntered in and made a right mess of the place." He got on his knees, then, squinting behind the boxes crammed onto the closet floor. "You didn't touch anything in here, did you?"

"No."

"No sleuthing through my old stuff?"

There was a faint twist in his stomach. "No," Gary repeated, through gritted teeth. "Now that I know these were yours, I don't think it'd be anything worth snooping in."

"Well, good," Boyd said, and stood up. “You clearly turned the place upside down, here, and I’d hate to find out you got your secret agent hands all over my old trousers.” He balanced on tiptoe, squinting into the upper shelf of the closet, and made a faint exclamation of joy. "Aha! There she is," he said, seizing something from the shadows and tugging it down.

Gary glanced away, then allowed himself to look again. It was a battered instrument case, once covered in fake black leather - now, every inch of it was peeling like the skin of a poorly-taxidermied penguin. Long scratches were scored into its surface; the brass hinges were musty with dust, and where Boyd’s hand touched it, great grey smudges of dirt came away on his palms. "Good, good," Boyd muttered, gently running his hand over the latches. "They didn't throw it out."

"Why would they?"

Gary didn't realize he'd spoken until Boyd looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Well, they'd have every right to, I suppose," he said, with a faint smile. So different from that teasing, almost bloodthirsty snarl he'd given Gary back in the living room, tied up in the curtains. "Played this thing all hours of the night, kept everyone up. Wasn't awful, mind you, the exact opposite -"

"Your ego is inflating like a weather balloon, Mr. Mosche," Gary said. "And like a weather balloon in the upper levels of the atmosphere -"

"You've lost me already. Shut up."

" - you're taking up too much space. Show and tell is charming, but I'll have to ask you to leave."

Boyd chuckled - that same raspy air-leaking-from-tires sound he'd heard in the dining room. "Well, you haven't had the good fortune to hear me play, then," he said. "Oh well. Plenty of chances for that in the future."

"I'm sure."

Boyd forced the closet doors closed again - the hinges sounded like death incarnate, Gary would have to oil them again - and hefted the instrument case. "Well," he said, sticking his head out into the hall. He visibly grimaced and went on, in a hurried, completely different tone of voice. "Won't keep you awake any longer, Agent Serious. I'll have words with Mama tomorrow morning about her giving you my old room, but you're safe. For now."

Gary blinked. He gently shoved Boyd into the hallway and peered out. From here, there was a direct sight line to the armchair by the fireplace, and Vanessa was sitting in it, very clearly giving them both a death glare that would freeze the Sahara. "It'll take a lot more than vague threats to evict me, Mr. Mosche," he said, giving her a brief nod. "Goodnight."

"Cheers, Agent -"

Gary ducked back into the bedroom and closed the door in Boyd's face. And locked it, for good measure.

He went about his bedtime routine as best he could, but it felt off; his clothes felt strange and scratchy on his skin as he peeled them off, dragging on his scars, and it took him more than three minutes to find the toothpaste. It was as if he was waiting for something to happen to him. Not as if he was being watched, no - just waiting. Anticipation.

He'd lied to Boyd about going through the closet.

As an FBI agent, it was his job to find out as much as he could about everything available to him. He'd succumbed to the strange closet within the first week. Being given a room with a strange amount of items boxed up in the closet had piqued his curiosity, and he'd given them a cursory look-over. He'd been sorely disappointed. Old clothes, mostly; a few boxes of sheet music, some scrawled out on notebook paper with a pencil, and a few more boxes of old science fiction novels. 

And on the top shelf, there had been an old instrument case, its surface peeling and hinges half-stuck.

He quietly put his toothbrush back in the jar. It clinked on the ceramic.

In distant memory, he heard the way his thumb had scraped across the violin's loose strings, releasing a godawful out-of-tune chord that made him grind his teeth. Four discordant notes. The third string from the left had been so loose it had merely warbled beneath his hand, pitchless and low.

And then, in the room across the hall, he heard that same note.

Gary slunk out of the bathroom and leaned towards the door, pressing an ear to it, feeling all at once like he was eavesdropping on something terribly private, and yet frozen in a spotlight's glare. No in between. Across the hall, the low, loose string vibrated again, and slowly rose in pitch, plucked over and over, until it rang out at last in tune.

There was a pause. Gary realized, belatedly, that he'd stopped breathing. Boyd plucked another note - a different string, incredibly out of tune - and checked its pitch against the first. He quietly unlocked the door and pulled it open. The door across the hall was tightly shut, and not even a sliver of light peeked out from underneath. Was he really tuning in the dark?

Just as Boyd plucked those two strings in a way that was deliciously, _ perfectly _in tune, Gary heard the clink of metal on ceramic. Twice - too obvious to be an accident. He glanced over and saw Vanessa in her armchair, beckoning him over.

"You'll get used to that," she said. "It's a habit of his. When he had a rough time, back in the day, he'd grab his violin and play at any hour of the night."

"Great," Gary muttered, perching on the edge of the adjoining sofa. "any other glorious surprises I'll have to figure out?"

Vanessa sighed. "Prepare yourself for nothing," she said, sipping her tea, "and be willing to deal with anything."

"Wonderful advice. More cryptic than usual, I'm surprised."

"It's advice for both of us," Vanessa said, eyes leaving her teacup. There was a strange openness in her face that Gary did not expect to see. And in her eyes, he saw doubt. "To be frank, I... Listen. Boyd's a dear friend of mine. You know this now. But he's been off the grid for nearly seven years, and I have no idea how he's changed."

"He's got history here?" 

She nodded. "He goes back a long ways," she said, "back to when this place was first founded. The Ashminder got him in the second '98 attack." A chill went down Gary's spine, hearing that name - the coldness bleeding strangely on the edges of his scars. Boyd, too? "I'd given him my address in Berkeley Springs, when I left after the first attack. Told him if he needed a place to go, then I'd welcome him. He found that paper on his body when he woke up, saved Evelyn a few days later, and figured the name on the paper was trustworthy enough."

Gary said nothing. He had nothing to say to this - nothing to match Vanessa's sudden honesty. And yet... he couldn't help but be suspicious. "So that's how you know each other," he said quietly. "But why don't you trust him now?"

Vanessa's lips pursed. He'd hit the nail on the head. "He's clearly got the memories of this place back, I think," she said. "It was the first place he thought of to come, when he broke out of jail. Hell - for all I know, he was planning on breaking out anyway, when his memories came back, and his charm failing was the last straw. Point being, he's trustworthy, but he's got a life completely out of order. Restored in fragments."

Her eyes lifted to his again. "You know what I mean," she said gravely.

He did. All too well. The muffled thrum of Boyd tuning his last strings was the only sound. "Yeah," he croaked. "Yeah. So -"

"So I'm asking you to do me a favor. Can I trust you to keep an eye on him for me?"

Gary blinked. "Why me?"

"Well, you've got the room across from him, don't you?" Vanessa said, sipping her tea again. "You've been keeping a close eye on him already."

"Not exactly voluntarily."

"Mm. Just let me know if he does anything you'd find suspicious, or out of the ordinary for him."

"He's awful suspicious to me already, I'd say," Gary said. "From where I'm standing."

Vanessa drained the last of her tea and set the mug in her lap, looking at him again. "Well," she said. "Maybe to get the right perspective on him, you'll have to move."

She unfolded herself from the chair, towering over him, and went to the kitchen to put away her cup. Gary stayed sitting on the sofa, arms crossed over his stomach. In the silence, the soft whisper of an unrosined violin bow on strings rang through the hotel. A scale. Shaky, a bit uncertain. As if he was trying to find his way.

It wasn't unpleasant - far from it. But it was getting late, and Gary's bone-deep weariness was wearing him down. Mama and the others couldn't come back soon enough.

* * *

_A few hours earlier_

There was something about the forest at night that made every cell in Duck’s body stand at attention. The crisp mountain air slid through him like flowing water; each creaking branch, each whispering leaf was a comforting dull roar in his ears. The distant clatter of the Greenbrier was a familiar rumbling echo in the distance. Most days, these sounds - the sounds of the forest he’d grown up in, the forest he walked through every day - were comforting. 

A twig snapped under Ned’s foot. Everyone flinched. Duck clenched his teeth, fingers automatically twitching for Beacon’s hilt. These days, the forest felt like it was hiding something. He remembered tramping through knee-high snow on the way to Indrid’s old camper, and how the trees had seemed to watch his every move, swallow every sound.

Mama’s flashlight glanced off the trees; the light turned them bone-white. Her quiet voice broke the silence like cracking ice. “You got the mirror, Jake?”

In front of them, Jake nodded, clutching a large hand mirror to his chest. His eyes gleamed orange in the forest shadow. “Yep,” he said. “Ready when you are.” 

“Hang on, what’s happening?” Aubrey sounded slightly out of breath from their half-mile hike. She stepped into the clearing with the gate, arms crossed. Duck caught himself scanning the treeline. “What’s up with the mirror?”

“We gotta improvise,” Mama said. Jake stood on tiptoes and leaned around to see through the trees, and shuffled slightly to the right. Muted, pearlescent light gleamed in the mirror’s surface. “Remember all the times we’ve gone to Sylvain? They’ve all been during a full moon?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Mama said, gesturing vaguely at the treeline. A half-moon smiled placidly down on the Monongahela National Forest. “That’s not gonna cut it. With full moons, the light’s just got to touch it, and it’ll hold the energy and stay open. But the half moon’s weaker. Someone’s gotta focus the light on it the whole time we’re passin’ through. That’s Jake’s job.”

“And even then it’s imperfect,” Barclay said grimly, adjusting his collar. His mouth was twisted in a sour, cold line, as if he was bracing himself for a punch to the gut. “You’ll see what we mean.”

"Gotta say, Barks, that's not a very confidence-inspiring statement," Ned muttered. Barclay sighed.

“We ready?” Jake said, tentatively lifting the mirror. He’d backed up against a nearby tree stump - the ragged, torn edges of a fallen silver maple, knocked over by a storm - and had one foot on top of it, bracing one elbow against his knee. The mirror was angled at the sky. 

A breath of wind rattled the trees, rustling leaves and sending twigs raining down on them. The tossing branches made the shadows flicker, and Duck flinched again. Jesus, he was really fucking jumpy tonight. Still - it grated on him, the way that the shadows fell across Jake’s face, collecting in the hollows of his eyes and under his cheekbone. As if they were consuming him.

“We’re ready,” he heard himself say. “Light ‘em up, Jake.”

Jake nodded and slowly tilted the mirror.

They were lucky; it was a clear night without clouds, and a muted haze of moonlight filtered down through the trees. Jake’s mirror reflected it onto the gate, and its inside slowly filled with light - but something was distinctly different. Instead of a solid white wall of light, it was murky, disturbed, like the reflections of water on the bottom of a pool, but spun across the gate’s entrance like a spiderweb.

Light flashed in his vision: sluggish lightning, crackling across the sky in slow motion. Duck took a deep breath, so deep it hurt his ribs, and closed his eyes.

Mama reached out and brushed her fingers against the light. It flexed backwards like a trampoline, and she grimaced. “It’ll do,” she muttered to Barclay, who nodded once. “Jake, hon?”

“Yeah, Mama?”

“Whatever you do,” she said firmly, looking him dead in the eye, “don’t take the mirror off that gate until we’re a hundred percent through, y’hear?”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

Mama nodded once and squared her shoulders, stepping through the gate. Immediately, Duck knew something was wrong; he’d suspected it, and they’d already said it, but this only confirmed it. The light _ bent _around her, tugging at her skin, and she leaned forward as if she was marching against a strong wind. Aubrey followed close behind, hands anxiously gathered to her chest. 

Jake’s hands quivered a bit, and the faint beam of moonlight almost left the arch. Duck glanced around. “Here,” he said, grabbing a branch off the ground and driving it into the ground right in front of the stump. It went about six inches into the ground, and almost cracked. Whoops. At least it’d be stable now. “Try restin’ your hand on that.”

“Thanks, man,” Jake said tensely, propping his wrist in the fork on top of the branch. The moonlight held steady on the gate. “I got it from here. C'mon, go, before a cloud or somethin' shows up -"

Barclay and Ned were pushing through the force field, now, one after the other. "Got it, thanks, man," Duck said, lunging after them.

The minute the light touched his skin, he cringed a bit and automatically backed away. It wasn't a bad feeling, per se - just an uncomfortable one. The light sucked at his skin as if he was peeling off taffy, and his skin prickled. He almost automatically swatted at it, like he'd been bitten by a bug. On the other side of the gate, Aubrey shouted his name; her voice was muffled. 

Jesus, this wasn't going to be good. He took a deep breath and dove through it, praying he'd come out the other side soon. 

Duck hadn't imagined the pinpricks on his skin. Wherever the wavering light of the half-moon gate touched him, it zapped him like a spark of static electricity. He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved forward. It truly felt like rising through water; it tugged at him, weighted him down, and it didn't seem like he was making any progress - until he broke the surface, gasped for breath, and immediately tripped over his own feet.

He very narrowly missed hitting Ned, who was sprawled motionless on the ground in front of him.

"Shit, Duck, you okay?"

He opened his mouth - but his stomach turned. Duck very narrowly avoided the urge to yartz on the cobblestones and on Aubrey's shoes, where she was standing in front of him. "Yeah," he croaked. "Yeah, I'm good."

Aubrey, surprisingly, seemed mostly fine, though there was a distinct worried sheen in her eyes. "You sure?" she said. "You look like you ate the world's worst burrito, Duck, you gonna be fine?"

"I've eaten burritos that made me feel way worse than this, I'll tell you that. But that was _ awful," _ he wheezed, pushing himself to his hands and knees. He could still feel the gate's sparks on his skin. "Now I... now I can see why y'all save it for full moons, holy fucking _ shit -" _

Ned mumbled something incomprehensible and stirred on the ground. His skin was oddly pale, and looked clammy in the dim light. "Ow," he whispered. Barclay shambled over to him and held out a hand, and Ned pulled himself up with effort, using Duck's elbow for leverage. "Is it gonna be like that coming back? Because I don't think I could take another round like that one."

Mama was standing, but there was a great dusty smear on the side of her coat as if she'd fallen over too. She was swaying slightly. She and Ned definitely seemed the worst off out of the five of them; Barclay looked fine but distinctly out of breath, and Aubrey looked like nothing had happened. "Yeah, no, it's different comin' back," she said thinly. "It ain't ideal, that's for sure, but it had to be done."

Metal clanged in the distance - sharp, short, as if two segments of plate armor had scraped together. Duck looked up, and his stomach immediately turned again.

Sylvain was completely invisible from here. A massive dark cloud, the dark grey of a tire fire, hung low over the bridge to the gate. The only light came from dim lanterns on each side of the bridge. They illuminated motionless bodies surrounded by dark stains, piles of rubble, suspicious oozes on the cobblestone like spilled tar - and below the bridge, the massive dark cloud went down, and down, until it was lost in even darker shadow. The gate to Earth stood on a massive natural stone pillar, on the other side of a ravine from the proper city of Sylvain - and that ravine was dark and deep even in full sunlight.

It was a terrifying drop. Duck wouldn't want to be the unlucky soul who fell down there - especially now that the Quell's storm seemed to have consumed the bridge completely. God knew what was lurking down there.

And then he heard that clang again - followed by multiple more, and the hurried tramp of booted feet, and saw shapes charging towards them from across the bridge. "Oh, shit," Barclay said faintly. "Forgot 'bout the guards, they didn't know we were coming."

"Well, it's not like we had time to give 'em any advance warning," Mama sighed. "I'll handle this, just -"

"Hey," Aubrey said, waving at the guards, who immediately stopped short. Mama took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Hey, what's up? Hi! We're just... passing through, everything's fine - well, everything's not fine, but we're not here to cause any trouble! Really!"

Her voice was cheerful, but Duck could hear a brittle undercurrent of anxiety underneath it. The guards stared at Aubrey, then at each other. One of them had a tiger's tail, from the looks of it; it lashed ferociously around their ankles. Then the other guard nodded, and they gestured at the Pine Guard, walking back along the bridge.

"Great, wonderful," Aubrey said, immediately marching after them. The thick grey fog parted around her ankles, swirling in her wake. Duck quietly took out Beacon and walked into the shadows. 

Each step Duck took into the mist made his stomach lurch. His ears were at constant attention; every little noise, every shifting rock and every distant howl, set him on edge. The guards ahead of them had their weapons drawn and pointed outward, towards the side of the bridge and forward. As if they were preparing for something to leap out and attack them. The thick fog continued to drift across the bridge, curling around the lampposts and piles of rubble.

"I'm starting to get the feeling I should have brought the Narfblaster," Ned whispered to Mama. 

"I'm gettin' that feeling too, Ned Chicane," she said wearily. A sound like a screeching bat echoed from somewhere to their right, off the side of the bridge, and everyone flinched. The guards whirled around and pointed their weapons at the fog.

There was nothing for a long, long time - but Duck sensed something moving beneath them, down in the deepest parts of the ravine. Rocks crumbled below and fell down, echoing. He glanced up and met Aubrey's eyes. She'd removed her sunglasses - the better to see in the fog - and Duck could clearly see just how scared she was. Her right gleamed orange in the shadows, like a blood moon peering through the clouds.

Stone cracked behind him. Duck whirled around just in time to get decked in the face. 

Duck flew across the bridge and hit the opposite railing with a crack. The lamppost above him swung wildly back and forth, the light doing strange things in the thick mist. On the railing across from him balanced a misshapen, pale abomination: a malnourished skinny thing with massive clublike hands, and desiccated wings that looked ready to fall apart at any moment. It had six pitch-black eyes, which did not reflect the lamplight, and a thin whip-like tail with glistening barbs on the end of it.

In his hand, Beacon stirred. "Duck _ Newton," _ he purred. "It seems we've been bested yet again -"

"Shut up, you fuckin' pessimist," Duck groaned, pulling himself to his feet. The fog's noxious fumes burned in his lungs. The implike creature chittered at them and slashed its tail; Barclay just barely leapt back from the bright spikes on the end. Duck suspected those things were poisonous, and he didn't want to have to wait long enough to find out. He lifted Beacon and slashed at the imp.

Just as he swiped at him, the faint burning in his lungs flared as if someone had twisted a knife, and he buckled at the waist. Beacon only managed to clip a wing. The imp screeched and wobbled in the air, its tail lashing again to keep its balance, and this time one of the spikes caught Aubrey. She yelped, clutching her shoulder. Duck tried to say something, but his lungs felt like they were closing up; the Quell's fog was like thick smoke, like he was trying to breathe in a fire without a breathing mask. 

One of the guards lifted their sword -

_ Crunch! _

\- and lowered it, as a spear flew from the Sylvain side of the bridge and right into the imp's head. The imp jerked and went still. It fell in an almost graceful arc into the mist below. Everyone watched its path until the dark cloud completely swallowed it.

Booted feet clanked on the cobblestone bridge. Duck glanced over and saw a familiar tall silhouette: broad-shouldered, covered in intricate armor, and with two great horns spiraling off his head. The burning in his lungs lessened. "Hey, Vincent," he said, giving the goatman a tired wave.

The Minister of Defense clanked closer, flipping up his visor. Duck wasn't good at reading goat facial expressions, but Vincent looked like a college student who'd just pulled an all nighter after drinking five Red Bulls. "Duck," he said, in that voice that sounded like his mouth was full of marbles. "Good to see you!"

"You too, Vincent," Duck said, giving Beacon a couple of taps. The sword muttered something derogatory and rolled up, to where Duck could clip him to his belt. "Thanks for savin' our bacon, man, you showed up right on time."

"Just passing through," the goatman said. He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "Heard a few rumors, saying you and your... squad, as it were, were coming over." His armored shoulders slumped; the mist swirled in front of him. "You couldn't have come at a better time. Things are... things are getting bad. You _ are _ planning on speaking to the rest of the Council, I assume?"

"Yeah, that's the goal here," Aubrey said thinly. Her hand was still pressed to her shoulder. "And, uh - we might want to hurry that up! I think that thing was poisonous, my arm is starting to go numb."

"Shit!" Vincent said, and the word was so incongruous with the rest of him that Duck let out a startled laugh. It came out as a wheeze, and Vincent gave him a concerned look. "Gosh, I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stop here so long. Let's get going - get you out of this... accursed cloud."

He turned and walked briskly down the bridge, flipping down his visor; the other guards hurried after him. Duck took as deep a breath as he could manage and half-walked, half-ran after them.

Vincent hurried them along, walking at a pace so fast that even the tall Barclay nearly had to jog to keep up. Duck understood why. The closer they got to Sylvain, the thinner the cloud seemed to become; if he looked up, he could see faint outlines of buildings in the fog, and the upper edge of Sylvain's city wall. The burning feeling left his lungs bit by bit as they got closer to the walls. 

Instead of going through the main city gates - big, imposing stone things, which took damn near thirty seconds to grind open - Vincent ushered them to the side of the gate and slammed his gauntleted fist on a brick. Some of the bricks composing the wall slid back and to the side, revealing a secret passageway. A guard peered blearily out before seeing Vincent and standing ramrod straight. Vincent muttered something at them and patted them on the shoulder, and they relaxed, scampering away down the passageway. Duck saw the faint pink flash of a snake's tongue, flicking out to taste the air, before the guard disappeared.

"Right," Vincent said, pressing another button once they went through. The secret door slid shut. "We're going to take the short way around to the castle. Follow me."

"Wait, how -"

"The guards' passageway," Vincent said. They'd come out in a dusty, dimly-lit hallway that stretched to either side. They were the only ones there, other from that guard Vincent had sent on their way. "It goes through the wall and right to the courtyard, in case of emergency."

"Why can't we just go aboveground?" Aubrey said. "The walk from the gate to the castle isn't terrible, like -"

"It's like one of your Earth traffic jams up there," Vincent said, leading them along the passageway. "I've heard of them, and they sound awful. Wouldn't want to force you to march through that, not with a poisoned arm." 

"Oh. Thanks, Vincent," Aubrey said. She peered at her arm in the shadows and winced.

Their path arced out in a long, graceful curve, and Duck knew they were walking beneath the capital city's massive defensive wall. There were hundreds of tons of stone above his head, held together with nothing more than physics, and possibly magic. He took a deep, slow breath.

The walk was not quite as short as Vincent had promised, but Duck trusted his judgement that it was faster than the usual route. Still, things were certainly off. Overhead - which was surprising, for a defensive wall - beams of cold grey light shone down, as if through holes. They passed a few workers holding buckets of mortar, and even had to press themselves flat against the wall to let ten or eleven guards pass, pushing a massive stone brick along.

Not levitating it. They rolled it along on logs, removing the one from the back and placing it in front, letting the stone creep along the passageway like a snail. It looked like their magic was compromised, too.

Eventually they reached a small hallway that branched off from the main one; at the top of a small flight of stairs at the end was a heavy-looking iron door. Vincent marched up the stairs and shoved it open, and pale pearlescent light filtered down. It looked like the Sylvan sun was out, shining through the thinnest parts of the Quell's noxious fog. The storm arched overhead, as if there was a dome protecting the city from it. "Okay," he sighed, tramping wearily up the stairs. "Almost there. For real, this time."

"Wonderful," Ned grunted, pushing himself up. "Shame I don't have a Fitbit, huh - between this and walking to the Lodge today, I've really gotten my steps.... in... oh."

He trailed off, stopping at the top of the stairs. Aubrey joined him and visibly cringed, her breath hissing between her teeth. "Ooh," she said. "That's bad." Duck joined them and bit back a loud curse. Sylvain's crystal towered over them, an imposing slab of gleaming rock - a rock that was the grey of dirty dishwater, bled dry of all color, save for a small pulsating orange center.

There was a long, grim silence as they all stared at the crystal. At last, Mama sighed sharply. "Well," she said. "Guess that's the answer to what the fuck's goin' on."

"That's the answer, yes," Vincent said wearily, leading them across the courtyard to the stairs. He ascended them slowly, each step looking like a massive effort. Duck felt a flash of worry; just how much had the walk across Sylvain taken out of him? "But an answer's not good enough. We... we need to find a solution."

At the foot of the marble stairs, Aubrey reached out and brushed her fingers over what looked like a burn mark, charred into the marble. She opened her mouth, as if to ask a question, but swallowed and stayed silent.

Ned climbed to the top of the stairs and looked out over the city. Aubrey followed his gaze and scrambled up the stairs to get a better look. She covered her mouth. "Oh, boy," Ned said grimacing. "Okay. I see it now, why you didn't want us to go straight through."

Vincent nodded once, his armor screeching. "Quite the obstacle course, there," he said flatly. "Not ideal for getting places quickly."

The city sprawled at the feet of the castle was a wrecked mess; the sight of it made something ache in Duck's chest. Whole buildings had toppled into the main road: houses, businesses, a few random things he couldn't determine the purpose of - even what looked like a shrine, or a cathedral of some sort, its spires littering the cobblestone streets. It was like looking out on a stretch of farmland decimated by hail.

And in the distance - Duck understood now, why they had seen light filtering through the walls. The inside of Sylvain's great surrounding wall had buckled and crumbled, sliding down into the city. Great chunks were missing from the top, the shadows dark in them like empty eye sockets. In one place near the gate, an entire watchtower had fallen, leaning against the inside of the wall.

"What the hell happened here?" Duck breathed.

"We were hit with an earthquake a few nights ago," Vincent said heavily. "We don't know what started it. At least, I don't. But -" He turned towards the castle's doors. "Someone else might."

He grabbed the door handles and tugged on them with all his might, but he couldn't open them. "I got it," Duck said hurriedly, running for the other door. Vincent gratefully moved aside. "Okay. On three. One, two, three -"

They tugged the doors open. Immediately, Duck lunged backwards. "Jesus, what the fuck?" he yelped. His heart lurched again - a horrible, nauseating wave of deja vu swept over him. He felt watched, seen. He almost forgot how to breathe. Two great glowing eyes stared out at him: golden, bright as two suns, with slitted pupils so dark they were like holes into another universe.

Then the eyes - ensconced in a mass of plush grey fur - blinked once. "Oh, hello," said Heathcliff. "What a surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gary: h-  
boyd: you're ugly, you're disgusting, i'm gonna kill you, give me two hundred dollars
> 
> they're the real stars of the show, y'all. sylvain is dying, heathcliff's wedged himself into the entrance hall like a cat in an empty box, people are in very real danger of dying, and all i can focus on is The Odd Couple: Amnesty Lodge Edition. guess that's just how it be on this bitch of an earth sometimes
> 
> hoped y'all liked this one! my hypothesis was correct - it turns out i definitely write more when i've got schoolwork to procrastinate on. i hope everyone's september is going well so far! kudos and comments, as always, are extremely appreciated, and swing by [my tumblr](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to drop me an ask. I post updates for TCOS, memes, and a lot of amnesty-adjacent content on there, so if you'd like to stop by feel free! thanks for reading, everyone!


	4. The Endless Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:  
\- "Meet Me In The Woods Tonight" by Lord Huron, from which the title is drawn  
\- ["Reactionary" by Mark Petrie](https://open.spotify.com/track/3aqedxkLXkXB6KEDLGSwWQ?autoplay=true&v=T)  
as well as the rest of the TCOS playlist.

After everything that had happened to her, Aubrey thought that nothing would surprise her anymore. But times like these, she was so, so glad she was wrong.

She got a better look inside as Duck stumbled backward. Heathcliff - Sylvain's enchanter, a cat wide as two city buses and easily taller than the old Pizza Hut sign - was wedged into the castle's entrance hall with hardly any room to spare. His front paws were patiently tucked under him; the tip of his tail - just barely visible through the doorway - twitched slightly. It was as if he was curled up in front of a fireplace, ready to go to sleep.

It was ridiculous. It was insane. It was absolutely incomprehensible. And it had to be the cutest fucking thing Aubrey had ever seen in her entire life.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God, he’s _ loafing, _I've got to tell Dani about this when we get back -"

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Heathcliff said dryly.

"That's a great idea!" Ned said brightly. Then his face fell. "Oh, shoot. I left my camera at the Cryptonomica -"

Heathcliff closed his eyes and breathed in once, ears still flat against his head. He really was at the end of his rope. "Y'all are out of your minds," Mama muttered.

"I find I'm in complete consensus with that," Heathcliff said flatly. His voice was faint, slightly reedy - not his usual smooth tones, and that was enough to dampen Aubrey’s good mood a bit. "What is it you want, Vincent? Here to try and kick me out again? I'm not leaving."

"Just passing through," Vincent said. "For real."

"Good, I was about ready to take a nap before you interrupted me." Heathcliff sniffed again. He sounded an awful lot like he had a head cold. Aubrey crossed her fingers and prayed that the guy didn't sneeze. "I sincerely hope none of you humans are going to ask for an enchantment. I'm not quite capable of doing anything right now."

"Yeah, no, Heathcliff, don't push yourself harder than you have to," Mama said gently, patting the underside of his chin - the highest part of him she could reach. Heathcliff blinked, but showed no signs of being annoyed. "You didn't send over a bounty list last month - hell, you ain't done that since December, you doin' alright?"

"Could be better," Heathcliff allowed. "Not much worse I can get." He shifted his weight slightly, arranging his paws neatly underneath him. "My powers are... lessened of late. Exhibit A as to why is right behind you. I haven't had the power to send a bounty list to your doorstep in quite some time."

"That's alright," Aubrey said. "No need to overwork yourself -"

Heathcliff's pupils suddenly narrowed. "That doesn't mean I don't have one," he said.

Aubrey’s eyebrows went up.

One front paw gently unfolded, nudging a small envelope out the door. Duck was closest - he bent down and picked it up. In his hands, it looked enormous; the envelope looked way smaller next to Heathcliff’s massive paw. "I only have the reserves to enchant one final item," Heathcliff said gravely. "Bring this to me, and make your request wisely. I don't want to waste my time and Sylvain's power any more than I must."

His eyes met Duck's again. Duck swallowed. His fingers plucked at the edge of the envelope's flap, stamped with a red paw print. There was something strange about the look he was giving Heathcliff; it was almost as if he was expecting him to pounce and devour him whole. “Duck?” Aubrey said softly. “You okay?”

He flinched and stared at her. “Yeah, yeah I’m… fine,” he said, clearing his throat. Without reading it, he folded the large envelope in half and tucked it inside his coat. “Just still, uh - getting my strength back from earlier.”

“If you say so,” Aubrey said cautiously, and edged past Heathcliff into the entrance hall. Vincent tugged the doors behind them as they squeezed through.

Luckily, the entrance hall had a ring of columns around it supporting a second level, and they formed a wall separating them from Heathcliff’s bulk. The Council chamber’s doors were already open, directly behind Heathcliff; it was another tough squeeze around him to get through. Aubrey heard him hiss as Ned tripped over the back of his hind foot. His tail twitched, as if he was about to lash it back and forth, and Aubrey scurried into the chamber before he could.

If someone asked Aubrey to describe what it was like to be a bug trapped inside a paper towel tube, she’d have a pretty good idea of what to say. The Council chamber was a small round room, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet across - but it stretched up, and up, the ceiling vanishing somewhere in shadows above. The three Minister's pedestals weren't very tall compared to the rest of the room, but they still loomed overhead and made Aubrey feel incredibly small.

They were all empty. It was as if she was standing in a dead forest, in a terrible burnt-out shadow of the Monongahela’s sugar maples. A wave of prickling revulsion went through her; it only had a little to do with her aching shoulder.

“You holdin’ up okay?” Duck said quietly, patting her uninjured shoulder. His voice echoed louder than it should have; he glanced around, a faint grimace on his face. “How’s the arm?”

“Still attached,” Aubrey said. She squinted at it, then at Duck, who looked just as confused as her. “Hm. I don’t know if I can heal it here? ‘Cause magic seems all wonky?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Vincent said. He craned his neck to look over their heads, and leaned slightly out of the doorway. “Magic use is rather limited, these days, I’m afraid. We’re not quite sure how… unstable things… Oh. Well, perfect timing! Janelle!” He waved his hand above his head, armor clanking. Aubrey’s stomach lurched in a strange way. “Do you have any spare salve?”

A harried voice echoed down the hall, nearly lost in the sound of tapping boot heels. “Coming, coming!” Aubrey saw Janelle’s swirling clothes enter the room before the woman herself did, floating around her in the wake of her passage. She had a massive sheaf of loose papers in her arms. Her glasses were pushed onto her forehead, and there was a smudge of dirt dragging down her cheek, as if she’d put up her glasses to scrub wearily at her face.

And behind her was… oh. A young, gangly boy in wrinkled formal clothes stood behind her, with a massive floating stack of books bobbing next to him like a buoy. He held one open against his chest and scanned the pages, glancing up every few moments to see if he was about to run into anything. Dust fluttered from the creases of his robes.

Fabian. Aubrey hadn’t seen him in weeks - hell, months, even. Now that she thought back, she hadn’t seen him since late January. Sure, she’d made a pit stop with everyone else in March to check up on Janelle, but he’d been nowhere in sight. This was the first time she’d seen him since the day the Ashminder followed them to Sylvain.

And now - now they knew his sister was alive. She had to tell him somehow.

Janelle stopped short in front of the Council chamber’s doors, clutching the papers to her chest. It looked like she was trying to hold an armful of leaves. “Oh, they’re here,” she sighed. “Thank goodness, I’m glad you made it here in one piece - it’s a _ nightmare _out there -”

Aubrey cleared her throat. "Hey, Janelle," she said, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

Fabian looked up, eyebrows raised. Aubrey gave him a small nod. The minute his eyes met Aubrey's, though, his face closed off as if someone had slammed a door. His mouth twisted into a sour line, and he hunched over his book again; Aubrey stared at the top of his head, her stomach twisting into something hard and cold. 

Janelle gave her a tired smile. "Hi, Aubrey," she said. "How are you doing?"

Aubrey tore her eyes away from Fabian. Her arm buzzed with a strange energy, like she had Icy Hot running through her veins instead of blood. “I’m… a bit poisoned, right now, actually,” she said faintly. “Vincent said you had some kind of salve?”

“Oh! Oh, gods, your arm,” Janelle hissed, staring at her cut. “How on earth did you get that?”

“Got swiped by a, uh…” Aubrey glanced at Duck. Duck shrugged. “...Something,” she said, “on the bridge.”

“Feral harpy,” Vincent supplied, and Janelle grimaced. “Clipped her in the shoulder with its tail.”

“You took care of it?”

“Of course. I’ll need to find a new spear, but...”

“Good work, Vincent - here, Fabian, dear, would you mind holding these for me?” Janelle said to her son, shifting her stack of papers in her hands. Fabian obediently held out his open book; Janelle piled her papers on top of it. She pulled a small tin from the folds of her jacket and passed it to Aubrey, quickly reclaiming her papers from Fabian. “Put some of that on the gashes,” she said over her shoulder, bustling into the Council chamber. “It’ll disinfect and draw out the poison.”

Aubrey gave the tin a cautious once-over. It was metal with a translucent glass lid; she pried it off and sniffed it, and got a strange whiff of lavender and some unnamed spice. Like eucalyptus, but slightly to the left. “You sure?” she said.

“It’s the best we can do right now,” Janelle said wearily. She went into the Council chamber and grabbed her papers from Fabian, plopping them on a small desk. Fabian slid behind the desk with a sheaf of papers. Aubrey looked up and swallowed; being in this room, which was at the base of the castle’s tallest tower, felt like she was an insect trapped in a paper towel tube. “Supplies are tight; we’ve had to pivot away from magic-based solutions rather quickly, today, because of… everything.”

“About that,” Mama said. She leaned against the base of Janelle’s pedestal, hands folded in front of her. “Janelle, I understand if y’all have to do official Council business and all, but… we got affected by all this too.”

Janelle froze, halfway through rearranging her papers on the desk. “You - you got affected,” she repeated, turning around. Her face was creased with concern; she braced herself against the table, knuckles white. “Forgive my confusion, Miss -”

Mama gave her a sharp look. Janelle’s eyes slowly narrowed. “Mama,” she said slowly. Mama gave an imperceptible nod. “But I’m not sure what you mean. You specifically?”

“I’m speakin’ of the Lodge as a whole,” Mama said. “Every Sylph on our side took a hit to the gut, magically speaking. Everyone’s shaken up.”

Janelle grimaced. “That’s not good.”

“Bit of an understatement, ma’am,” Barclay said wearily. Over the course of the day, his disguise had filtered back into place; his hair looked more presentable, and it seemed like he’d shrunk a bit to his normal human disguise’s stature. He still looked scraggly, though, and his eyes flashed orange in the dim chamber. “Everyone’s sick, tryin’ to recover, but the going’s real tough because we don’t know how to help them. We don’t know how to fix it.”

Janelle took a deep, deep breath and rubbed her eyes. “Well,” she said blearily, taking her glasses off her forehead, “we’re in the same boat, as you humans say. We don’t know how to fix it, either.” 

There was a faint shiver in her hands; the light quivered on her glasses’ lenses. Mama reached out and took Janelle’s elbow. “We can sit down if you’d like,” she said gently. 

Janelle gave her a vaguely confused look. “But - the meeting, we -”

Vincent cleared his throat. He leaned heavily against his own pedestal, eyeing the stairs behind them as if they’d personally insulted him. “Woodbridge won’t be able to make it,” he said, coughing. “He and the ghosts got the worst of it. So it won’t be a full Council meeting.”

“And the Interpreter?” Janelle said.

“She’s taking a nap,” Fabian said, putting a journal on the table.

“Not a full Council meeting, Janelle,” Vincent said gently. “We can relax protocol just a bit.”

Mama gave Janelle’s elbow a reassuring squeeze. Janelle took a deep breath. “Alright,” she sighed. “Informal meeting it is.” She immediately sank to the ground, clothes pooling around her, and rearranged herself comfortably on the marble floor. Everyone else followed suit, some with more caution than others. Vincent clattered to the ground in a shambling pile of armor, a relieved expression on his face. 

Something massive rustled behind them; the Council chamber’s doors swung open just a bit wider. Aubrey whipped around and saw Heathcliff try to wedge his face through the door, whiskers sticking every which way. Duck gave him a nervous look and scooted away. “Are we finally going to talk about what’s happening? _ Finally, _I’ve been wanting to -”

“You’re givin’ the castle quite an eyeful, Heathcliff.”

“I’m sitting down,” the cat snapped at Ned, ears flying back. Ned held up his hands defensively. “All I want to do is hear what’s going on! Nobody’s told me a single thing since the earthquake happened. And nobody’s let me say anything or - or even told me _ anything _.”

Janelle and Vincent gave each other sheepish looks. “We… haven’t exactly been available to listen,” Vincent said awkwardly. “I’ve been out at the wall all day, and Janelle’s been in the Archives with Fabian.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean to accuse,” Heathliff said hastily. His nose twitched, and he edged a bit closer to the door. “I’m just… _ curious. _It’s in my nature, you’d say.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth, yeah,” Mama said, smiling softly. She’d sat in the middle of the floor, in front of Woodbridge’s empty pedestal, but close enough to the circle that she could still be heard. “Heathcliff, we’ll get to you, no doubt there. We just gotta - on our end, things are lookin’ pretty bleak.”

“Give us details,” Janelle urged, glancing over her shoulder at her son. Fabian nodded once and grabbed a quill. 

“Not much to it, really. Like I said, the Sylphs on our side took it real hard,” Mama said. “Everyone’s disguises started fading out, folks were wakin’ up fatigued. Moira, she couldn’t even keep herself corporeal out of her disguise; she had to put it on to keep from phasin’ right through the floor.”

“Oh, no, is she doing better?” Janelle said, hand halfway to her mouth.

“She was holdin’ steady when we left,” Mama said wearily. “I think she’s gonna be okay. I get worried ‘bout her sometimes, since she’s gettin’ up there and all, but… she got hit hardest. Everyone else is doin’ better, though. Anyone else got something they wanna add?”

Aubrey raised her hand. “I got an awful migraine and woke up with a nosebleed,” she added. Janelle looked at her, concerned. The expression seemed to fit her face incredibly well. Being a mother may have had something to do with it. “I dunno if that’s anything, but it’s close enough to everyone else that I’m… kind of worried.”

Janelle nodded. “It might,” she said slowly, “be because of your magic. I’m not quite sure why it… hm. We’ll figure this out later.” She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples. Aubrey saw the sallow circles under her eyes and winced in sympathy. Today must have been putting her through the grinder.

She of all people could use some good news. Aubrey thought about Evelyn, who’d been assembling a salad in the kitchen when the five of them left for Sylvain. This meeting couldn’t get over soon enough.

Duck asked a quiet question that Aubrey couldn’t hear, and Vincent straightened up. It looked like he was trying not to fall asleep. “Oh - yeah, things here are…” He deflated a bit. “Bad. Our side has been having a lot of the same problems. Exhaustion, sickness - a few…” He sighed heavily and lowered his head. “A fair few people have died,” he said, his voice hollow. “People on the outskirts, closest to the wall.”

“From the Quell?” Ned said, aghast. “Has it been that hard to drive off?”

Vincent gestured across the circle at Aubrey. “To be honest, yeah, it is,” he said. “Things get through sometimes. The Quell took over the bridge two days ago, and it’s creeping in towards the center of the city.”

“It’s easier in the inner levels,” Janelle said. “As it, well, always has been.” Vincent nodded in terse agreement. “The buildings by the border wall are most susceptible to attack; most of the dead have come from there. We’re still trying to assess what exactly happened. The earthquake hasn’t been helping things - it took out a bunch of buildings -”

Heathcliff quietly cleared his throat.

“ - and damaged the border wall, which you saw on your way in.” Janelle folded her hands in her lap, staring at the marble floor. “We - yes, Heathcliff?”

“It came from underneath my ravine,” Heathcliff said. His voice, though soft in tone, echoed up and up into the chamber. Everyone winced. “It was strong enough to make the ceiling crumble. I almost got hit by a stalagmite - or is it stalactite -”

“Stalactite,” Duck said. “It’s got a T in it. T for top, so it’s the one hanging from the ceiling.”

Mama threw up her hands. “In all my years, Duck Newton, I’ve never been able to figure out the difference, and here you come with that nifty little mnemonic,” she said. “That’s so damn handy. Thank you for your service.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Duck said, hugging his knees to his chest and grinning. “Got plenty more for you, as long as they’re about plants - anything else and I’m toast.”

“That’s wonderful, Duck, thank you,” Heathcliff said sincerely. “A _ stalactite _ the size of a building fell and nearly shattered my skull. I ran out of there so fast I didn’t have a chance to get a good look, but… I have some suspicions about what may have caused it.” His eyes took on a reserved, almost cagey sheen. “I have the faintest inkling as to why.”

Fabian’s pen scratching was the only sound in the silence that followed. Aubrey shifted on the floor, cringing as her combat boots squeaked softly on the polished marble. Janelle leaned forward, peering up at the massive cat with both eyebrows raised. “And that is?” she said expectantly.

“Can’t tell you.”

“Why the hell not?” Duck said. 

Heathcliff’s large bulbous eyes flickered to him, then back to Janelle. “Well, the humans may be an exception,” he said slowly, “to this godawful rule.”

Across the circle, Mama sat up. Aubrey hadn’t even noticed how she’d been slouching over until, as she straightened, her shadow elongated and splayed across the back wall. It towered over them all - somehow sheltering them, instead of looming ominously. “Heathcliff,” she said gravely. “Is this… is this about the Ashminder?”

Everyone stared at her. Heathcliff’s eyes narrowed. “The what?”

“The... the thing that - you remember, don’t you?” Mama said. “You’re damn near old enough to remember when the planet was born, Heathcliff, you gotta remember what it was. Moira told us about it. It was the thing that wiped out half your history, three hundred years ago.”

The change in atmosphere was so crisp, so severe, that Aubrey felt it slam into her ribs like a wall of ice. Duck and Ned were still solemn, sure - but the moment Mama said “the thing,” Vincent’s head snapped towards her so fast his armor screeched. Fabian’s pen stopped scratching.

“The what?” Janelle said.

“It was in Moira’s journal, Janelle -”

“No, no, Mama, I didn’t catch what you said,” Janelle said plainly. “I heard ‘It was’ and then didn’t catch the rest. Could you repeat that?”

Mama froze. Her eyes slid to Aubrey’s, then to Barclay’s. Barclay grimaced. “The thing that wiped out half your history,” Mama repeated. “Did ya catch that? Barclay?”

Barclay swallowed; panic seemed to gleam, deep down in his eyes. “I didn’t hear anything,” he said softly. “I saw your lips move, but I didn’t - I don’t know what you said -”

Fabian set down his pen. “All I heard,” he said faintly, “was… static. ”

Aubrey felt a sickening lurch in her stomach. She’d seen that haunted look in Barclay’s eyes before: back at Indrid’s former campsite in January, and in random flashes over the past few months. When memories slipped, when words were slow to come to the surface. It was a fear they all knew too well since that fateful month.

It never really left Aubrey. 

The dull ache of fear in her stomach grew. She shifted on the ground and hugged a knee to her chest, fiddling with the laces on her boots. Heathcliff sighed and rearranged his limbs. “Therein lies the rub,” he said wearily. “It doesn’t affect me - I am literally born from the planet’s magic, so things are a bit different on my side. But because of what happened so long ago, it’s practically impossible for me to offer any explanation for what I’ve heard, or seen. To any Sylvan, that is. It’s something about being on this planet again, Barclay, that’s changing it for you. I escaped the spell -”

“Static, Heathcliff,” Vincent said. Heathcliff muttered something sour under his breath.

“If we’re talking about the same thing, Heathcliff, then it’s dead as a dodo,” Duck said. “We killed it in January, and memories it ate - was that static?” he said, glancing around the circle. Fabian and the other Sylphs nodded; Mama shook her head. “Dammit. The, uh…”

“Are you trying to say that whatever you killed is also responsible for whatever erased our history?” Fabian said in a rush - as if he was afraid static would cut off his words. 

Duck looked surprised. “Yeah - yeah, exactly, man, you got it.” Fabian nodded once and returned to his journal, scribbling something down. 

“Fabian would be especially interested in that, I think,” Vincent mused. He turned to Duck. “Fabian and Janelle have been combing through the Archives.”

“They’re full of blank books,” Janelle said wearily, “books that have been there for centuries but were all… erased once. We keep trying to theorize on what caused that, but whenever we get close it didn’t stick in our minds. It was just gone.”

“That’d be the spell,” Mama said wearily. “Once that thing died, memories started filterin’ back like crazy on our end, so… if things are as connected as we think they are, I got hope for y’all. Do…” She paused and looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “D’you think there might be answers in there? To what’s going on?”

Fabian grimaced and sucked a breath through his teeth. “Possibly,” he said, his young voice uncertain but strong. “We’ll find information, sure. But answers is completely up in the air. So many things happened in the time that was erased, and so many things were lost. If there is an answer, we’d have to do some digging.”

“How much?” Ned said.

“Well over a thousand years’ worth.” Everyone winced. “That’s the date of the most recent text I could find.”

“The scale of it is… horrible,” Vincent said, and the grave softness of his voice made everyone pause. He sat slumped like a corpse against the base of his pedestal, arms crossed over his chest, staring at a distant point just over Janelle’s shoulder. “We… after it happened, we had to rebuild almost our entire civilization from the ground up. Relearn technology. Rediscover old maps and cities. There was civil war, complete cultural revolutions, entire legal systems destroyed. Vanessa, my predecessor, knows more about the aftermath than I do, but… we lost so, so much. We even lost the records of the war that destroyed Sylvain in the first place.” He closed his eyes. “All we know is that it happened.”

“Jesus Christ,” Aubrey said under her breath. She’d never known the scope of this - she’d gotten the faintest sense of it, when Janelle had first passed along Moira’s old journal. But enough to make an entire civilization crumble, on top of stealing millions of memories and destroying hundreds of thousands of lives… it was terrifying. She couldn’t be happier that the Ashminder was dead. She never wanted to see or hear anything about it again. 

Her eyes flickered to Janelle. The woman looked haggard, weary, in the chamber’s dim lights. The shadows overhead seemed like they were pressing down on her shoulders. She had to tell Janelle about Evelyn now. As soon as they could get a private moment, Aubrey would tell her.

“Whatever happens,” Janelle said, “we’ll find -”

There was a distant screech overhead: echoing, thin and wavering, like a distant falcon’s cry. Everyone looked up at the shadowy ceiling; it stretched into an invisible infinity. A small pinprick of light at the top of the tower was all they could see. “Not a good sign,” Mama ventured.

“Definitely not,” Vincent said. He began the slow process of standing up, plate armor clanking and screeching. “It’s getting late. We need to get you all back home before the worst the Quell has to offer comes after us.”

“What, that harpy on the bridge wasn’t the worst?” Duck said, alarmed. Vincent shook his head. “Jeez. Don’t want to face something like _ that _again. We really should get going.”

“I second that,” said Mama. “We got all we need for now, I think.”

Aubrey waved a hand at Janelle. Janelle glanced over, eyebrows raised. Aubrey hooked a thumb over her shoulder, towards the open door, and tilted her head. Janelle’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Sorry we weren’t able to have a better answer,” Vincent said. Duck shambled to his feet and held out a hand; the goatman gratefully let Duck help him up. “Come back next week, maybe?”

As everyone gathered themselves, making a beeline for the exit. Aubrey dodged Heathcliff's front paw and went for a side hallway. She glanced over her shoulder. Janelle was already following her incredibly close behind, her papers and books gathered into a haphazard pile in her arms. Aubrey slowed down to let the shorter woman catch up. 

Janelle tried to rearrange her books again, gave up, sighed sharply, and stacked them on top of Fabian's levitating pile. "Watch those again for me, dear."

"Okay, mom."

With her hands free, Janelle turned to Aubrey with a faint expectant smile. "I saw your... inconspicuous gestures," she said, "back there. What's up?"

And this was it: the moment of truth. Aubrey took a deep breath, trying to ignore how her heart was slamming in her chest. Janelle's face was weary, her eyes clear and questioning. She slowly let out her breath and said, "It's about Evelyn."

Fabian's head jerked up. Janelle's face didn't change much, but Aubrey saw the corners of her mouth tighten. "Really?" she said. She pushed up her glasses, folding her hands over her stomach. Her knuckles were white. "What's - that's great, Aubrey, what did -"

The strange pinched look in Janelle's face made Aubrey's chest ache. She looked like she was bracing herself for a blow, for a wave of bad news. God. "We found her," Aubrey blurted out. "Well, she - she found us, Janelle. We killed the Ashminder in January -"

Janelle's hands slowly rose to cover her mouth.

"And her memories started filtering back, and she came home two weeks ago when she remembered -"

"Aubrey," Janelle said, her voice wavering. Aubrey focused fully on her, now, and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears behind her glasses. "I - _ what? _"

Aubrey reached out and put a hand on Janelle's shoulder, steadying her. It seemed like the right thing to do. "She's home," she repeated. "Evelyn came home."

"Oh, Aubrey," Janelle breathed, and swept her into a hug.

Aubrey was surrounded with a sudden cloud of warmth, and the faint smell of old books and copper, and her eyes stung with tears. Janelle hugged her so hard she could feel her ribs creak, and the hug - something about it burned, like someone had poured molten steel into her chest. It was soft, it was kind, it was almost... _ motherly. _

Janelle's shoulders were shaking. It was all Aubrey could do to keep from crying, too.

"She's alive?" she heard Fabian whisper. "She's - Mom?"

Janelle nodded, her hair flying wildly around Aubrey's head. One of her arms left Aubrey and reached out, blindly; Fabian tentatively stepped forward, and Janelle swept him into the hug too. "Thank you," she whispered into Aubrey's shoulder. "Gods, Aubrey, thank you, thank you -"

"It's - you're welcome," Aubrey said faintly, not trusting herself to say anything more. "I'm... I'm glad I could, y'know... brighten your day a little!"

Janelle laughed, the sound choked off with sobs. "You've done more than that, Aubrey, thank you so so much," she whispered. "I can't - I can't thank you enough, I don't know what to say -"

"It's okay," Aubrey said, awkwardly patting her on the back. "I'll - let her know that you know she's alive."

Over Janelle's shoulder, she saw the rest of the Pine Guard gather near the entrance of their side hallway. Barclay gave them a look and swiped at his eyes, tapping Ned's shoulder; Ned passed him a bandana, and Barclay loudly blew his nose on it. Mama sidled over, hands in her pockets, a soft smile on her face. "Y'all doin' okay?" she said. "Seems like we've got some good news."

"Only the best," Janelle said wetly, breaking away from Aubrey and wiping her eyes with her scarf. The smile she gave Mama, though, was steady. "The best news a mother could ever get."

_ And someday, maybe she can come home, _ Aubrey thought. _ And the news will be even better. _ But she didn't know if that was the right thing to say. Not now.

Before she could change her mind, Fabian broke away from his mother and said, "No."

Aubrey froze. Even Janelle's eyebrows went up. "What?" Aubrey said, staring at him. 

The doubt, the disbelief, even, churned in his eyes, and the terrified confusion in his face made Aubrey's heart ache. "You - I want to believe you, I really do," he said shakily. "But Aubrey, you lied to me when we first met. I _ told you _ that my sisters were on Earth, I said their names, and you didn't say anything. You looked right at me. You _ knew _ and you didn't tell me."

"Fabian, I -"

"You know how I found out she was dead?" he went on. "By eavesdropping on you and Mom. Nobody from Earth told me. Nobody told any of us. But you... you knew this whole _ time. _"

His eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm sorry," Aubrey said desperately, "Fabian, I really am - I just - there's no excuse for me not telling you, but it just didn't seem - I didn't even think she was dead!"

"But if she had been?" Fabian said, his voice rising. In the entrance hall, Heathcliff's eyes pricked up, and his head swiveled towards them. "If she had, would you have told me?"

"Fabian," Janelle began. 

"No, Mom, I -"

"Listen to me, Fabian, Evelyn is alive," she said evenly. "It's going to be alright, from here on out, okay? She's okay."

Fabian's jaw clenched. He turned away from his mother, looking Aubrey dead in the eyes. "Dani got my letters, right?" he said quietly. 

"Yes. Gave them to her myself."

"Get her to send one back," he said. "I want to believe you. I really do. But I'm not going to be able to believe it unless I see a letter from her with my own eyes." His hands shook, and the levitating stack of books wobbled behind him. "I - you -"

"Fabian," Aubrey began.

"Just talk to her," he said, and broke away from the group. He practically ran down the hallway, his stack following behind him. Janelle gave Aubrey an apologetic look and raced after her son, calling his name. All Aubrey could do was stare, hands limp at her sides, and watch them leave.

After a long silence, Mama put her hand on her shoulder. "You didn't know it was gonna happen, Aubrey," she said gently.

The guilt in Aubrey's stomach lurched painfully, as if it was trying to claw its way out of her throat. "I should have just told him at the beginning," she whispered. "I didn't - I just thought it was the right thing to do, to protect him -"

"You didn't know he was going to listen in, and that's okay," Mama said. "Some things are out of our control."

Aubrey's fists clenched, released. "I don't know," she said softly. "If someone - Mama."

"Mm?"

Aubrey glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the Pine Guard; they'd started inching towards the door, giving them some space. "If I was Fabian," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "If someone knew what had happened to someone close to me, and didn't tell me, because they thought it'd protect me... I'd be pretty damn pissed, too. I know how he feels."

Mama didn't have anything to say to that. She just sighed and squeezed Aubrey's shoulder. "If we're gonna get that letter back to him, Aubrey, we gotta head on home," she said, heading for the main door. Aubrey followed her out into the gloomy light, shoulders hunched.

Vincent was waiting for them in the courtyard, holding the door to their secret passageway open. They filed back through the hallway, scurrying underneath the border wall like sewer rats, and made a beeline for the bridge. "I'll see you out to the gate," Vincent assured them, holding open the secret door by the main city entrance. He'd grabbed another spear from a weapons rack along the way. "Are you planning on coming back during the actual full moon?"

Overhead, the clouds flowed together, like a massive hand was stirring them. Aubrey caught herself jogging along the bridge, giving the lampposts nervous looks. The further they went from the city, the thicker the clouds grew, hanging over the bridge like a heavy curtain. Duck coughed a couple times and thumped his chest.

"That's the idea, yeah," Mama said briskly. "If anything comes up our side, we'll make a note of it. It's feelin' like a waiting game, just trying to see if anything happens."

Aubrey breathed in and coughed; she caught a faint tang of rotten eggs and smoke. The further along the bridge they went, the more the shadows blurred, as if someone had turned the world into a charcoal sketch and smeared down it with their entire hand. "Well, hopefully nothing will," Vincent said darkly, looking at the wall of clouds surrounding them. He sniffed, his muzzle twitching, and flipped down his visor. The great rotunda that housed the gate to Earth loomed out of the mist ahead; the watery shimmer of light in its opening was like a beacon in Sylvain’s night. “Let’s get you all home.”

* * *

The wind rattled down the empty streets of Sylvain. Fog erased the world’s edges; lamplighters fanned out across the city armed with matches and oil, ready to light the streets of Sylvain by hand. Dry leaves skittered across the cobblestones.

From this high parapet, it sounded like someone was taking in a thin, raspy breath. Woodbridge gripped the balcony railing as hard as he could with his spectral hands. Even from this high up, the dead leaves’ dry scratching sent repulsed shivers up his spine. The city was withering beneath his feet; if he stepped wrong, he thought, then it would crumple beneath him like a dead bug’s exoskeleton. 

The world was truly going to end. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it anymore.

The world fuzzed at the edges, grew sharper. Lightning sparked in the sky above; the clouds churned, in massive eddies and whorls like a lazy-flowing river. He felt the ground shiver slightly and glanced down, alarmed; the few lit streetlamps wavered and danced.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. No - not the distance; it was quiet, but close. Uncomfortably close. Woodbridge felt a faint wave of nausea sweep through him, with a sharp dose of nerves, and leaned further of the balcony. It was like the low, throaty growl of a massive beast, beyond the walls of Sylvain.

Something stirred in the distant sky: a shape, a shadow made solid, nearly as wide as the bridge to the gate was long. The clouds distended in front of it, as if a hand was pressing on a taut sheet, and then - 

Metal shrieked and tore. The ground rumbled with the roar of distant engines. He watched, stunned, as a hunk of glowing metal the size of Sylvain’s castled breached the clouds and fell - on a collision course headed right for the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _LIVE_
> 
> man, college is fucking HARD, yall! it's my second year, i should know better by now, but jeez louise the time really got away from me. i hope y'all enjoyed the taz finale as much as you possible could - and if you didn't enjoy it at all, then that's valid! welcome to TCOS, where literally anything that was revealed after episode 15 is noncanonical as i see fit. fuck yeah. we're in tin's house now.
> 
> and we are slowly but surely starting to get into the real actual plot! i am so ready to launch into chapter five and the glorious, glorious adventure that's in store for you. there's a whole wide world of sylvain and earth to explore that griffin never even _thought_ of touching on, and i am going to seize that opportunity with both of my grubby little hands thank you all so much for reading!!! im super excited! leave a kudos and comment on the way out, or drop me an ask in [my tumblr inbox.](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/ask) have a good one, yall!


	5. A Silent Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:  
\- ["So Say We All" by Audiomachine](https://open.spotify.com/track/1yGtwQmr4NRzftGOHU6vX2?si=rvfUEU7tSuGTbn5cBYjgGg) (this one crops up a lot, huh? it's a favorite)  
\- ["Home, Pt. 2" by Robert LaSalle](https://open.spotify.com/track/35dlkbgzQSWlvA37lGK3zY?si=wR7tFgsUT3iwsuJnJoKadQ)  
\- ["Elysium" by Bear's Den](https://open.spotify.com/track/0vWvYpsuAhLCXlTVKqezsO?si=TForzjdJQ8u5c05EhCIgwg)  
\- ["Violin Partita No. 2 in D Minor" by Johann Sebastian Bach](https://open.spotify.com/track/5S94PIQplSfBHZXsZowyGY?si=6jJCwXe8RX2dxZGnFcGM8g)
> 
> as well as [the rest of the official TCOS playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ?si=2jEA1G3dSB-zkkri9RcHRQ).

The apartment filtered into his vision like the edges of a bruise - an indistinct, midnight-dark smudge. He blinked once, twice. His eyelids felt full of sand. Indrid squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing a hand over his face. An oil slick of colors swam behind his eyelids - with flashes of images, half-remembered dreams. Fingers itched lazily, automatically, for a pen. 

How bizarre. Broken walls - bent bars, a prison guard smashed into the wall - a broken anklet. Torn curtains. Great batlike wings flared wide against the half moon. 

It was all a dream, wasn’t it?

He coughed a bit and rolled over; he’d fallen asleep on Duck’s brand-new couch, skimming the classifieds and ads he and Duck had scrounged up. Winnie’s eyes flickered open: they shone like two headlights, boring straight into Indrid’s skull. He squinted at the fluffy cat. She was curled on top of a pile of paper - newspaper classifieds, printouts of car and camper sales websites. 

That itch for a pen and paper - creeping, nagging, gritty in him like sand under fingernails - surged back. He closed his eyes again, drinking in the image. Some soft, stumbling partita on a distant violin. Creaking floorboards. A betrayed face, a clenched fist - 

And his own voice. _ "He's back. I'm sorry." _

"Shit," he hissed, throwing himself off the couch. Winnie's ears flattened against her head. "That wasn't a dream, wasn't a dream at _ all _ -" He stumbled forward, jamming his feet into a pair of Duck's shoes, and snatched a jacket off the coat tree, sprinting out the door.

* * *

Ned felt it before he saw it - the great gravity of the sky, pressing down on him, like the sky before a tornado, all hot pressure and an all-encompassing doom. He stopped in his tracks. Wind rattled something overhead; metal creaked and groaned.

"What's happening?" he breathed. 

Ahead, Duck stopped in his tracks, head craning towards the sky. "Hm?" he said. His grip shifted on his sword, knuckles white. Vincent edged towards the edge of the bridge. "The hell was that?"

"There's something above the clouds," Aubrey said, voice hushed. Another deep, percussive groan rang out overhead; the clouds thinned, then thickened again, so fast that Ned couldn't see just what they were hiding. "It's - is it gonna hit us?"

Mama put a hand on her shoulder, and took a step backwards, towards the rotunda. "Let's not stay long enough to find out," she said. "C'mon. Let's move."

The clouds thinned into vapor overhead. Ned's hands itched for a gun he didn't have. The shadow kept moving, and the clouds kept driving forward, dipping down. Like the roof of a closing mouth.

And then he realized. Something wasn't just flying overhead. Something was falling. "Yeah, Mama, you're onto something, we need to go," he said, making a break for the rotunda.

There was a deep, fast displacement of air that made the lanterns shake so hard, they seemed ready to rip off their poles. A long, dark shadow plunged towards the left of the bridge, like someone was peeling the world down like a sticker at the corners - and then he thought he knew what was happening. A massive fin was slicing through the clouds like a knife. It was like a banking airplane, he thought wildly, mind drifting to the weeks he spent in New York - he'd see planes fly into La Guardia, the brutal grind of metal and machine all too close -

And then the clouds above them just crumpled downwards, all at once. What looked like the underside of a sailing ship sank towards them, a ship nearly the length of the entire bridge, with great fins on either side. The clouds dissipated even more, in a wide arc; the wide, curved underbelly of a balloon nearly the size of Mount Kepler appeared. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Barclay said shakily. "Jesus, fuck, god_ damn -" _

"You'll have time to cuss on the other side of the gate, Barks, let's just go!" Ned yelled, grabbing his elbow.

Vincent's eyes were fixed on the ship's trajectory. The left fin - long, curved, like a cruelly hooked claw - dipped into the ravine, coming closer and closer to the rotunda. "Get out of here, go!" he bellowed, shooing them away with one hand. 

Duck didn't need to be told twice. He bolted for the gate, Beacon flopping around uselessly and screaming protests at his side. Aubrey lingered at the entrance to the rotunda, staring at the ship. Mama grabbed her shoulder and hauled her towards the gate.

_ Boom! _

The left wing of the ship clipped one of the rotunda's pillars. A section of it shot slightly out of place. The entire bridge shook, lanterns swinging and loose bricks plummeting into the ravine. A loud crash echoed across the sky; through the near-opaque clouds, Ned saw a distant flicker of blooming fire. It was as long as the bridge. Jesus Christ, this thing was as long as the bridge - and it sounded like it just smashed into the city -

"You've got a chance, run!" Vincent yelled. He turned to face them all, now; in his helmet, his yellow goat's eyes gleamed with panic. "We've got this!"

There's nothing they could do but make a break for it. The left fin of the ship was all the way in the ravine, now, and Ned heard the shriek of tearing metal far below. Now the wing on the right was dipping towards the bridge - but Vincent was right. There was nothing they could do. Just run.

Aubrey was frozen again; in panic or fear, Ned couldn't tell. He grabbed her arm and sprinted for the gate. Without even thinking, he shoved himself through.

It was the same broken-glass sting as before - the feeling of shoving through a saran-wrapped window, barbs digging into his skin. He lost his grip on Aubrey somewhere in the gate's rippling light; he didn't dare open his eyes. All he could do was push through the gate, like everyone else, no matter how it felt like fishhooks digging into his skin -

And suddenly it was easier. Pushing through water, instead of through a brick wall. With a yelp, he tripped over something and plunged back into Earth. Ned got a brief taste of the forest's dewy summer air and heard a pine needle crunch, before he hit the ground outside the gate hard.

Something twinged in his wrist. "Oof," he said. "Fuck. _ Ow. _ " He tried to push himself up, but his wrist flared with hot pain again, and he collapsed. "Ow, ow, _ fuck _ -"

"You okay?" said a small voice.

Ned looked up. Across the clearing, he saw a terrified Jake Coolice, the mirror propped on the branch gave him, shooting a beam of moonlight at the gate. His hands quivered. The half moon was just barely visible. "Take a guess, Jakey boy," Ned grunted, rolling over. Maybe he'd try sitting up instead.

The gate flared again, and Mama stumbled out, nearly tripping over Ned's legs. Barclay was right behind her, and grabbed the back of her coat to steady her. He had a bruise on his cheekbone that he didn't have before, and a faint gash on his hand. "I got you," Barclay grunted, hauling Ned to his feet. 

Behind them, Ned heard Duck groan. "Oh, Christ," he said, sounding like he had his head between his knees. "God, fuck, my _ head _ -" Ned glanced over, dusting off the front of his shirt, and saw Duck sitting on a stump. Sure enough, he was holding his head like it was about to explode. His arms were scratched, as if he'd blundered through a rosebush.

"I'm sorry," Jake said nervously. "I - I didn't know that y'all were going to come back so soon, or just come plowin' through, man, I should've been ready -"

"Jake, hon, it's okay," Mama said wearily. "We had to change some things up, come back sooner -"

"Something was falling from the sky."

Aubrey's voice was soft, shaken. Ned saw her standing by the gate; she kept glancing back at it, as if she wanted to run back through. Out of all of them in the clearing, she was the only one who seemed unscathed. "I don't know what it was - I don't know if anyone knows what it was, but it was... huge. And it was headed right for the city." She swallowed. "Like a crashing airplane."

"What the fuck," Jake whispered. He let the mirror dip; with a muted, low hum, the gate went silent and dark. "That's - that's insane, I've never heard of anything like that. On Earth, yeah, sure, we got airplanes and shit, but on Sylvain - are they _ okay? _"

Mama brought a hand to her nose. She touched it, grimaced, and pinched it shut, leaning forward. "It's bad," she said nasally. "But we - we can't go back yet. We don't know, we've got to wait until the full moon next week. This gate... it's doing a number on all of us."

"Not me," Aubrey muttered.

"Even if you're fine, hon, it did a real number on me and Ned," Mama said. "And Barclay."

"And me."

"And Duck, over there," Mama said. "It took too much of our strength, and we ain't prepared to go through again. Not unless we're all armed."

"So, next week?" Jake said, hugging the mirror to his chest. Mama nodded once, shoulders slumping, and headed for the trail back to the Lodge. She stumbled once, and Barclay caught her arm to steady her. He looked ragged, weary - though if that had to do with the gate, or with today's harrowing events, Ned couldn't tell for sure.

As Duck picked himself up and trudged after them, Ned heard Aubrey speak - so soft that the wind almost stole it. "I could go back."

Ned lingered at the back of the group, turning back into the trees. Aubrey stood in the shadows near the gate, Jake lingering by her shoulder. He watched as Aubrey hesitantly reached out to the empty, unlit gate. Her fingers passed through it; her hand dropped to her side.

"We can't go back," Jake said softly. "We've got to give this time."

Aubrey swallowed. "Okay."

Something in Ned's chest twisted and broke. He took a deep breath and followed the rest of them into the woods.

They hiked back to the lodge, staying close in the deepening night. The maples sighed overhead, and the distant moon flickered in their leaves. Ned's wrist was really starting to ache, and he clutched it to his chest. Every step jostled it. Damn, he really hoped that it wasn't broken. He might have to put some ice on it, go down to the basement to get a bandage or two. 

Maybe Barclay could wrap his wrist or something; he was incredibly good at first aid. Ned was always the type to pop some painkillers, grin and bear it, and hope for the best; life on the run without access to legal health insurance would do that to you. He and Barclay, though... they were both getting old. They found their ways to take care of each other.

Mama seemed to catch her wind ahead of them. "I got it, I got it from here," she said, patting Barclay on the shoulder. 

Barclay fell back, gently pushing Duck to walk ahead of him. Duck rolled up Beacon as he walked, ignoring the sword's half-hearted mumbles and insults. Barclay fell into step next to Ned. "You holdin' up alright?" he said softly.

Ned patted his arm. "Best as I can," he said. "You?" His hand slid down Barclay's arm, and their fingers laced together. Barclay's thumb gently caressed the back of Ned's hand, but he didn't speak. "Rough day?" he said softly.

"You could call it that, yeah," barclay huffed. "I'll... we can talk about it later, if that's okay with you. I'm just - I'm tired right now, I -"

"We don't have to go back to the Cryptonomica tonight, then, if you don't want to," Ned said. "We can stay at the Lodge tonight."

Barclay was silent for a moment. "I think I'd like that," he said at last. And it was too dark for Ned to see Barclay's face, towering above him, but Ned could hear him smile. And despite the fear and the fire of today, Ned felt just a bit more at ease. He squeezed Barclay's hand again. That feeling of ease would take a lot to evaporate.

Of course, that was what jinxed it.

They broke the clearing, soldiered through the brush, and stepped into the main parking lot of Amnesty Lodge - and a familiar spindly silhouette stood on the front porch, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, hey," Aubrey said. "What's Indrid doing here?"

Duck pushed forward, nearly tripping over the curb surrounding the parking lot. "Hey, Indrid, what's up?" he said, heading for the porch. "Thought you were gonna be at home, what's goin' on?"

Indrid's shoulders hunched a bit more, and he came down off the porch. Insects buzzed and thumped against the porch light. "I'm glad you're all back," he said faintly. As he got closer, Ned saw he was clutching his journal to his chest. His wrist twinged again, and he made a beeline for the door, pushing past Indrid. They'd restocked the medicine cabinet with ibuprofen last week; he'd pop a couple and then hunt down some bandages.

"I'm - I've got to apologize, I thought -"

"Indrid, what's goin' on?"

"I was tired, and it seemed like a dream, I didn't expect it -"

"Indrid, hon, what the fuck are you talkin' about?" said Mama.

Ned pushed open the door.

"He's back," Indrid said. "I'm sorry."

* * *

A faint song drifted through the halls of Amnesty Lodge.

The floorboard right inside the door creaked, and then fell silent. Duck stared over Indrid's shoulder. Ned was frozen inside the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. Barclay was right behind him; the hand Ned had wrapped around Barclay's wrist went slack, slumping to his side.

"Boyd's back," Indrid said, to nobody in particular. Softly. Apologetically. And the name, it tripped something in Duck's mind. He remembered. The man who Evelyn said saved her life. The man with a hundred different names. The man whose most recent name, when it was spoken, made Ned drop a mugful of tea in the living room. Duck could still hear the crash and skitter of broken porcelain.

It was a ladder, Duck thought. A violin was playing a ladder of calm, quiet notes, rising up and up through patient key changes and slow, evenly-paced chords. 

Ned took a deep breath, slowly let it out.

"Ned, I'm sorry," Indrid said. 

But he didn't stay to hear him. Ned trudged away from the Lodge, shoulders slumped, and vanished into the midnight gloom of the parking lot. Barclay sprinted after him and vanished too.

They all stood there on the porch - the open door spilling golden light into the shadows, the soft violin music nearly stolen by the wind. Mama slowly turned and stared into the living room. Duck followed her gaze. The light stabbed into his eyes, and his headache came back with a vengeance; a pair of the Lodge's curtains were thrown across the back of a sofa, and a few chairs were crooked. Something had happened while they were gone. "So," she says quietly. "He's back. He really is back."

"I didn't know he'd even try," Indrid said, knuckles white on his journal. Duck wanted to take his hand, smooth the tension from it, hold it tight. "I would have come here earlier tonight, when he actually showed up, but - I was exhausted, I slept straight through the vision when I went back to feed Winnie. I was so out of it, I didn't know if it was real or not -"

There was uncertain, even guilty, fear in his voice. It tugged on his words and forced them to unspool. Duck immediately put a hand on Indrid's shoulder, pulling him close. "It's alright," he says quietly. "You didn't know, it's fine. Let's go in and sit down, man."

"Yeah," Indrid huffed. "Yeah. Yeah, that's fair, let's... sit down, we've had a hell of a night. Okay. How's your head?"

The sudden question made Duck jump, as they made a beeline for the couch. "Uh - not super great, but y'know. Half-moon gates. They're shitty, apparently."

"Yeah, they're far from ideal," Indrid sighed, sinking onto the couch. He tossed his journal onto the coffee table, pinching the bridge of his nose and propping his elbows on his knees. Aubrey crept past and kindly patted his back, making a beeline for her and Dani's room.

Duck watched her go and saw, in the hallway beyond, Mama head for a door across the room from Stern's. She tapped on the door. As if being played by an obstinate teenager, the music got louder, and the peaceful Bach took on a grating edge. Mama took a deep breath, sighed, and shoved open the door. The violin suddenly stopped, and did not begin again.

"Bach," Indrid mumbled. "Partita number 2 in D minor. Favorite of his."

Across the hall, Stern's door slowly opened. The man himself stuck his head out like a cautious turtle, staring across the hall. He made an oddly puzzled face. Duck watched, bemused, as Stern yawned and closed the door again, the light flicking out under the door. Boyd must have been keeping him awake - though, oddly, Stern didn't seem too upset by the music. In fact, Duck wanted to say he seemed disappointed.

Indrid sighed and leaned back, scrubbing his eyes under his glasses. Duck finally sat down on the couch, shoving the curtain to one side. "So," Indrid said thinly. "How was Sylvain?"

He sounded like he needed a distraction. Damn, it'd be a shitty one, though. "Not great," Duck said honestly. Indrid put a hand on his knee and reassuringly rubbed it. He thought back to the city - thick noxious clouds, crumbling walls, the crystal almost completely drained. That harpy, feral and bloodthirsty, ready to attack Aubrey and tear all of them to shreds. 

He sighed. "Heathcliff came upstairs," he added. "That's... fun. Dumped himself in the entrance hall. Wedged himself right in there like a cork."

"That's ridiculous," Indrid chuckled. "Just like Winnie and the coat closet... I wish I could have seen that in person."

He was quiet, subdued; one hand cupped the pendants of his necklaces, both the one Duck gave him and his Sylvan crystal. Like the one in Sylvain, it was the color of dirty dishwater, more like a hunk of polished quartz than an actual gem. Without thinking, Duck reached out to touch it. 

He felt the faintest flicker of warmth under his fingertips. Indrid laced their fingers together over the crystal. "They're hurting, aren't they?" he whispered. Duck nodded. There wasn't much he could say.

Indrid turned slightly towards Duck. "They didn't ask after me, I assume," he said, sinking deeper into the couch. Duck shook his head. "I'm... really not surprised. I didn't know this morning's incident would come, not at all - my scope of visions used to be much larger, cover more distance, but... as I've gotten older I've had to make do with minutes - seconds, even - of foresight." Duck nodded. "I don't know what would've happened, if I'd been in Sylvain before this happened. I really wouldn't have an answer."

"There were times when you could see... further?" Duck said. Indrid nodded, but didn't chase it further. He ran a thumb over Duck's knuckles. 

A truck started outside and drove off. Duck craned his head to look. "It's Ned and Barclay," Indrid said quietly. "They're - Ned's not going to want to stay here, not tonight."

"Because of Boyd?"

Indrid nodded. "That man..." He shook his head. "Ned knows Boyd somehow," he said, "and I'm not sure he's going to tell any of us soon. He probably met Boyd sometime after Boyd left the Lodge, in that dead space when he wasn't with Vanessa."

That made sense, but it didn't give Duck the context he wanted. Mama's voice was distant, down the hall, mixing with an unfamiliar raspy baritone. All he could think about was that cup breaking on the hardwood floor.

"They won't talk about it on the way home," Indrid said. "They each have things on their mind. But I think they'll be there for each other."

"Yeah, Barclay knows how to have people's backs."

There was the hollow rattle of a string instrument being packed away. Duck glanced over the back of the sofa again, into the depths of the dark hallway. He heard a faint thread of Aubrey's voice -

"How's... how's Sylvain, though?" Indrid said. "How's Vincent doing?"

Now, that was a surprise. Out of everyone, he would have expected Indrid to ask what Janelle was up to, since they both dealt with magic and stuff - but he couldn't know that. He didn't know what kind of world Indrid left behind, when he came to Earth over a hundred years ago.

"Vincent's alright," he said. "Keeping himself busy. The guards have been working overtime, because the Quell's completely overrun the bridge. We got attacked on our way over, and he just fuckin'... dove out of the mist and speared the thing, like some kind of goddamn superhero."

"Sounds like Vincent, alright," Indrid said fondly. He grimaced. "That's... that's a pity about the Quell, though. I don't like the sound of that..."

"You knew Vincent?"

"Of course." Indrid smiled faintly. "I was Seer for about a century, and he was an Assistant Minister to Vanessa - he and I were both curious about Earth, for our own reasons, and when human books and poems and such drifted over, we'd share them sometimes."

He paused. His lips tightened, and he looked away. "Janelle really liked Emily Dickinson," he said softly. "And The Count of Monte Cristo. Her husband died a decade or so after I left Sylvain, but... I remember he was about halfway through Les Miserables, when I last saw him." 

Indrid looked at him, then, his glasses angled just right so that Duck could see clear through them. "Does she... know?" he said, voice suddenly shaking. Duck's grip tightened on his hand. "Does she know that her daughter's alive?"

The words knocked the breath out of Duck. He couldn't even speak. Janelle - Janelle had kids? "She's got kids?" he said out loud, and Indrid nodded once. "Other than - other than Fabian? I didn't even figure that one out until today, I had no idea."

"Yeah, it's... common knowledge around here among the other Sylphs, but they might not have looped you in... Dani and Evelyn, they're her daughters. They were exiled before she became Minister. Did anyone tell you?"

And it all slotted into place, then. The guilt, the grief - the way Fabian had looked at them all as he'd come in, Indrid's hesitation to go to Sylvain even though he was more than welcome to return. The Lodge had thought Evelyn was dead for 20 years. How could they ever tell her own mother that she was gone, if they didn't know for sure?

Duck swallowed. He thought about the eternal pinched lines of Janelle's face, brow perpetually creased in some kind of fierce disapproval. How much of that had been directed at them? How much of it was directed at her own world - her own government, the government that exiled her children? And was it even disapproval? How much of that had been decades of simmering, grieving rage?

"No," he said faintly. "I had no idea."

Indrid sighed, clutching a throw pillow to his chest. "Janelle didn't become a minister until... relatively recently, I think. This century. Moira voluntarily left Sylvain without a crystal, in 1997, and Janelle - who'd been Junior Minister for a good long while - took her place. Moira filled me in, when we met up again. Janelle's..."

"Were y'all friends?"

Indrid grimaced. "Kind of. Coworkers, mostly. She could never get a sense of my seer powers, because she couldn't decode or analyze it. It doesn't have magical rules, not hard scientific ones she could follow. But we... respected each other, as colleagues, before I left. She supported my mission wholeheartedly.

"She'll be alright, though. I hope," Indrid added. "Dani's told me about the letters Fabian sent over, and I hope they'll be able to get things across the lines. Under Woodbridge's nose," he said darkly. "The man's never liked me."

"Yeah, we didn't see him," Duck said wearily. "Good riddance. I think?"

"Definitely."

They chuckled softly to each other. It was almost hard to laugh, at this time of night; Duck's weariness went all the way down into his bones. He hadn't felt quite right since walking into Sylvain and breathing that godawful smoke. Indrid leaned closer, pillowing his head on Duck's shoulder. "I'm glad you got back safe," he said. "My sight doesn't range into Sylvain, so I didn't know for sure, but... I'm just glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm back too," Duck said, resting his head on Indrid's. He lifted his arm to put it around Indrid's shoulders. He almost said something about Boyd - the man he could now hear, that raspy British voice just a bit louder down the hall. He remembered the way Ned froze, the stiffness to his shoulders and the pained lines of his face, as he left.

But Indrid said that they would be fine. They were driving home, and they were fine. And Duck knew beyond doubt that he could trust Indrid's judgment. Everything - for now - was going to be okay. 

* * *

Once Mama went to that room across from Stern's, Aubrey swerved around the doorway and made a beeline for Dani's. As she stepped through, the music stopped; she saw Stern stick his head out the door, peering curiously at the now-closed door. He blinked blearily, something flickering across his face, and withdrew. 

For a split second, Aubrey thought that expression was guilt. But that wouldn't make sense, not for Stern - if anyone should have been feeling guilty, it was the guy across the hall, keeping him up. Aubrey was surprised the man wasn't in bed by now -

"Aubrey?"

Shit - right. She'd forgotten she was halfway through the door to Dani's room. She skittered through and closed it behind her. "Hey," she said awkwardly. "Sorry to just - oh, hi, Evelyn."

Her stomach lurched. Dani and Evelyn were both perched on Dani's bed, in the middle of some kind of conversation. Evelyn waved slightly. Christ, they really were twins, though the differences between them were so clear. Evelyn's skin was a deep golden-brown from her ten-year sojourn in Honduras; her hair was shoulder-length and a deep brown. So different from Dani's long blonde waves, but... their faces. It was undeniable.

Something flashed in her mind: a camera going off, a moment reclaimed. There used to be a photo on her mother's bedside table: a picture taken the week after she graduated high school, of her and her mother on a picnic. Her dad took it. They sat on one side of a picnic table, arms around each other, cheek to cheek and grinning at the camera - and people used to say they thought the two looked so similar, they were like sisters. Something tore in Aubrey's chest.

She couldn't think of her mother. Not now. She had to bring Dani and Evelyn good news. Some kind of news. It would be news, and it would be what they made of it, but she hoped that it would be something beautiful.

"Hey," she said again. "You got a minute?"

"Yeah, always," Dani said, grinning softly. Aubrey's heart flipped and settled in her chest, the way a trampoline catches someone just before launching them into the air again. "If you want to go to bed, I can kick this one out." She elbowed her sister in the ribs. Evelyn glared - but the corners of her mouth twitched with a smile. "What's up, babe? How was Sylvain? What - what happened?"

Evelyn seemed to be watching Aubrey with careful eyes.

Aubrey took a deep breath. "Sylvain's fine," she said. "Yeah, Sylvain's... pretty okay, i'd say, things have sort of gone to hell, but -"

"Babe, those are wildly conflicting statements. Just... start over from the beginning." 

Dani held out an arm and scooted back a bit; Aubrey sat down next to her, scooting towards the middle of the mattress, and felt Dani's arm settle around her waist. "It's... Jesus, I don't even know how to say it," she said. "Sylvain's in a bad way. The clouds? Y'know,, the clouds? The Quell storm? It's... God, I don't know how to... say this, I just -"

"We can take it," Evelyn said quietly. She glanced at her sister, whose lips twitched downward. A silent conversation that Aubrey couldn't pick up the meaning of. She felt a swoop of anxiety in her stomach. She didn't know Evelyn the way she knew Dani, not as long or as deep. Did that mean something? Did she say something wrong? 

It was all Aubrey could do to keep from standing up and leaving. She didn't know if Evelyn hated her no, because of what she said, or if Dani was really going to be hurt by this and only her sister could tell. Would she just make things worse for them?

"Yeah," Dani said softly. "We can take it. It's fine, you're not the first to deliver us bad news from Sylvain. things could be worse." She took Aubrey's hand with her free one and squeezed.

"Okay," Aubrey said. "If - if you're sure. I can stop at any time."

"Of course."

"Okay. So... the Quell? Right? It took out the crystal somehow. It's sapping energy from it, and that let it take over the bridge that leads to the city from the gate."

"Holy fuck," Evelyn whispered.

"That's why everyone's disguises were taken out, right?" Dani said. Aubrey nodded. "And why we were all super tired?"

Aubrey nodded, hugging her knees to her chest. "Yeah," she said. "Sylvain's energy is still supplying y'all from a distance, and the crystal took a hard fucking hit."

She swallowed. This, now - this was the reason she was here. "Your mom and your brother are fine, though," she said. Dani relaxed visibly next to her; all the tension flowed out of her like water, and Aubrey let Dani lean into her side. "They're a hundred percent okay. A little tired, like everyone, but they're holding up. Your - Fabian, he misses you."

"Yeah," Dani said softly.

"Especially you, Evelyn."

Evelyn's face caved slightly, like tin foil crumpling. "I know," she whispered. "I read the letters you brought us."

"I talked to him while we were there, after the council meeting. He..." Aubrey grimaced. That rushing fear came back - the panicked swoop she'd felt in her gut when Fabian looked at her, face torn with betrayal. She'd lied to him, without even knowing it. She'd lied to a child and told him that his sister wasn't dead - but was it even a lie, if she didn't know it was true? Schrodinger's sister. Whatever the fuck. 

"What did he say?" 

Evelyn's voice was soft, probing - gently nudging her towards speaking, without being abrupt or abrasive. Aubrey marveled at this kindness for a moment, before finally blurting out, "He wants you to write a letter."

Dani's eyebrows went up. "That's it?"

"He doesn't... he didn't believe me, when I told him you were alive. And I think he wants to hear from both of you, I just... yeah. Just a letter. That's all he told me, before -"

"Before he stormed off? Sounds about right," Evelyn said, shaking her head fondly. "God, I miss him."

"We can do that, of course," Dani said. "We'd - we'd be more than willing to do that, I know I've -" She broke off, and stared at the floor. "I had a letter that I wanted you to give him, in March," she said softly. "But. I didn't want to tell you take it."

"How come?"

"Well." Dani met her sister's eyes. "It said Evelyn was dead, so. That's not exactly true."

"Yeah, I'd sure hope not," Evelyn said dryly. "I'll - listen."

Her voice turned serious. Evelyn put a hand on Dani's shoulder. It seemed to take effort for her to speak, but eventually she said, "We can write a new letter together."

Dani gave her a faint, faltering smile. That warm rawness in Aubrey's chest twinged again with a vengeance, and her throat swelled with tears. God - they missed their brother so fucking much. She can't speak to what things were like between Evelyn and Dani these days, but she hoped they were getting better.

And Aubrey was going to be there the whole way. Not everything about this could be fixed but _ fuck, _ she knew she'd do what she could to help. All Aubrey wanted to do was make things right - and if not right, then to make them okay.

"When will you be back in Sylvain?" Dani said. "Next Saturday?"

"Yeah, if all goes well," Aubrey confirmed. 

"Sounds like a deadline to me," Evelyn said, grinning. "We can start piecing it together soon. I know I've got a lot to get him caught up on."

* * *

The drive home from the Lodge was dead silent. Streetlights flickered past, zipping past like shooting stars, as they rattled down Kepler's pothole-ridden roads. Barclay had taken the wheel in Mama's truck, which was probably for the best; Ned's hands were shaking to the point that he didn't think he could drive. They just needed to get home.

Ideally, they'd get there in one piece, if Barclay could focus on the road long enough. "Sorry," Barclay said, jerking the wheel, and the truck drifted back onto the road. "Sorry. I just - yeah."

"i get it, it's fine," Ned said. He took a deep breath, clenching both fists on his thighs, and releasing them.

Barclay put on his turn signal as he turned onto main street. "I didn't think he'd come back," he said. "I - I didn't have an inkling that he'd even try. Last I heard of where he'd ended up was two weeks ago, when Ness told us where he'd ended up. If anyone would've had the stones to bust outta jail, it'd be him, but... I don't -" He gestured vaguely out the windshield. "I don't have the foggiest idea why. Unless he got all his memories back, I don't... we'll just have to talk to him."

Ned was silent.

Barclay glanced over at Ned again. The truck drifted again. "You said to me, once," he said, "that y'all were... close. What happened? If you're - if you're alright with telling me, that is."

"The road, Barclay."

"Sorry."

The car drifted back onto the right side of the road. Streetlights kept flickering past, like softly dancing flame. He thought back to that night: searing heat, broken windows. His hands clenched tight around a man's pajama-clad shoulders. Now-familiar eyes, rippling with angry fire, fists clenched. A collapsing beam. The crack and tumble, pain flaring across his shoulders. Crackling flesh.

It was that song, Ned thought. That song. He didn't know what it was, but it reeked of highbrow age - some kind of 18th century fuckery, all carefully measured ladders of notes. Bach, probably. That song was his favorite warmup, to get his fingers moving. In the later days of their heists, the lightning round of fiddle grifts, Boyd took those moments so seriously. Warmups, scales, stretches before each heist. He cared. He cared too much. He didn't care enough.

"He ruined my life," Ned said quietly, and looked out the window. He did not speak again. Barclay seemed like he was about to say something, but he just nodded once. He reached over to squeeze Ned's knee and put his hand back on the wheel, carefully guiding them through the night. The streetlight right above the Cryptonomica parking lot flashed once and flickered out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Symbolically placed burn scar? in MY fic? it's more likely than you think!
> 
> The chapter title comes from "Elysium":  
"Every page I turn / I only find myself / Feeling more alone / Posing questions to a silent universe"  
This really just reminded me of Fabian and his sisters, especially his letters - he wrote them, without intending to send them, because he didn't know if he'd ever get an answer. To him, it was always silent on the other end - but now he has an answer. Now, everything's going to be okay. God, i love him
> 
> a nice breather chapter, before things start getting serious! i'm thinking of a few more to let interpersonal panic start to fester, and we have a lot of it. we have some duck stuff coming up, there's aubrey's stuff with dani and evelyn, and the whole ned-boyd drama... boy howdy. it's going to be something. not to mention the repercussions of stern's report and that ripple effect, as well as whatever the fuck is going on with stern and boyd. jeepers that's going to be fun.
> 
> i hope yall are enjoying this so far! i know i'm having a blast! i've gotten a second wind since the end of amnesty, especially since i've managed to untangle these plot points. in the future, i'll very likely be spending multiple back-to-back chapters in sylvain to hash out that drama, because... yeah. things are Happening that the pine guard Will Not be present to witness. and fabian and alexandra, and vincent, and woodbridge, and janelle... they got stuff to do and things to say. its gonna be good.
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! leave me an ask on [my tumblr](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/ask) if you'd like - anon is open! thanks so much for reading!


	6. Whisky Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important note:** this chapter assumes that you have read through at least Chapter 4 of [The Secret Garden,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818608) a character study fic for Hollis, Jake, and the Hornets. It builds all of them up completely from scratch. If any of the Hornets' actions confuse you in this chapter, I recommend you read that fic first to get some background. 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
\- ["On the Other Side" by Blanco White](https://open.spotify.com/track/68lPk9jC7nTpiZgH7Zc2ik)  
\- ["Life on Earth" by Snow Patrol](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Cr8sOkVQqYexxiT7xRwRk)  
\- ["The Secret World of Arriety - The Neglected Garden", cover by Vitamin String Quartet](https://open.spotify.com/track/1Eo69QVgLAUpkIzo6iDBdk)  
\- ["String Quintet no. 6 in E major, op.11 no.5: III. Minuetto - Trio" by Luigi Boccherini"](https://open.spotify.com/track/4EZmZOHBnQxDjP0toykJ2I)
> 
> and the rest of [the TCOS playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ) on Spotify.

It tickled.

Jake hated silence as a rule, but this - this was the worst kind: soft, feathery, hissing in his ears, as if sand was drifting through cosmic fingers and down his spine. A silence not quite there. He shivered. The Lodge creaked and settled underfoot; rays of morning sunlight filtered through the windows, freezing dust motes in them like insects in amber. The dome overhead was a refracted spiderweb of panes and frames.

A door creaked open on the bottom floor. Jake froze, one foot poised above the next step. His grip was so tight on the railing that it hurt. When the distant door closed, he slowly breathed out and crept downstairs, avoiding the creaky spots on the landing. Water rattled through the pipes as a shower turned on.

That had to be Agent Stern. (Former Agent Stern. Ex-Agent. Agent-ish Stern. Jake still didn’t know what the deal was with him.) The man’s daily routine was so rigid that everyone could set a clock by him. He was a machine. He’d be in the shower every morning at 7:30 and parked in front of the coffee machine at 7:45.

It was almost admirable. Jake could barely haul his ass out of bed until 10 or 11, especially now that the nights were getting harder to sleep through. But today was an exception. Jake hadn’t gone to bed at all.

The second step from the bottom would creak. Jake tiptoed over it and, with a white-knuckled grip on the railing, slipped into the living room. The sofas and chairs were empty, and showed no signs of people having been there, save for a torn-down curtain draped over one and an afghan on another. Jake stopped and stared at the curtain; the missing space over the window gaped like the shadows behind a missing tooth. Something must have happened last night. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the side hallways. Names tumbled through his weary mind: Aubrey and Dani's door was closed, so they wouldn't be up for a while. Evelyn and Jane had puttered to the kitchen a few minutes before he'd gotten it up to leave his room. Mama was still asleep; Barclay had driven Ned home; Vanessa, as far as Jake could tell, was still in her room. His skin crawled.

Something oniony sizzled in the kitchen, and cups clinked. Water drummed on the floor of Agent-ish Stern's shower. It sounded like he, Evelyn, and Jane were the only other ones awake. Good. If he ran into Vanessa this early, he’d jump out of his fucking skin. Jake slipped towards the kitchen, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards -

His foot caught on something. With a strangled yelp, Jake stumbled and crashed into the side of an armchair, nails scrabbling against the worn leather. It took a minute to pull himself up, but when he did, he saw what had tripped him.

Two pairs of shoes. A worn pair of hiking boots, and some beat-up, faded tennis shoes. Jake frowned at them. Whose were those? Dani kept her boots in her room, and nobody in the Lodge had tennis shoes that were _ that _ beat up - 

The afghan on the sofa rustled. Jake glanced up.

He immediately got to his feet and skittered backwards, taking care not to trip over the shoes. A sound-asleep Indrid and Duck were on the couch, curled into each other under the afghan. Indrid's hair was a hopeless staticky mop; it clung to the soft leather back of the sofa. He leaned against Duck, long legs flung haphazardly towards the other end of the couch. Duck was hunched over Indrid almost protectively, one arm draped around his shoulders and the other resting on top of the afghan. Their heads leaned towards each other as they slept.

He couldn’t help but smile. The two of them looked so comfortable with each other. And Indrid was snoring softly. Jesus, the two were really knocked out. Mama must have draped the blanket over them before turning in herself. It was a miracle Jake hadn't noticed them when he got back -

Floorboards creaked, and the kitchen door swung open. Things sizzled softly on the other side; the smell of frying pancakes got even stronger. "Jake? Hey!" 

He cringed and skittered away from the couch. Behind him, Evelyn stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wielding a batter-crusted spatula. “Hey, Evie," he said, giving her a sheepish wave.

He could see Jane moving around behind her, stirring something in a frying pan with a spatula. The coffee machine sputtered on the counter. "Jake, good morning!" Evelyn said brightly. Jake waved his hands frantically, tilting his head towards the couch. Evelyn craned her neck; a stricken look passed over her face. "Shit. They're still asleep?" she whispered.

"I guess," Jake said. "More than I - hngh."

His sentence cut off in an awkward, faint hiss. Evelyn's eyebrow arched. She had a piece of onion in her hair. "Hngh? More than you hngh?"

"Shut up, man -"

"I'm just teasing," she whispered, playfully jabbing him in the shoulder with the spatula. He giggled and swatted her away. Her face softened into something soft, worried. "But hey, yeah, Jake... I didn't hear you come back from the gate until like... four in the morning. Are you - are you okay?"

Something in Jake's stomach crumpled into a cold, hard knot. He'd been found out. Nobody was supposed to know. "Well, what were _ you _doing up at 4 in the morning?" he said, lifting his chin.

"Jet lag is a bitch."

"You got back two weeks ago! How are you still jet lagged?"

"I have weird dreams, okay? Especially since..." Evelyn grimaced. "Well," she said softly. "Especially since my memories started coming back. In March, thereabouts. It's been rough for me. Has - have you been holding up okay?"

Jake wanted nothing more than to let the truth bubble up, then, but... "Yeah," he said. "No. Sort of. I don't - I don't know."

Evelyn's face softened even more; she pursed her lips, nearly scratched the back of her head with the spatula, stopped herself, and put her hand down. "Did you remember your parents?"

His chest crumpled like a crushed soda can. "Yeah," he said in a rush, looking down at the ground. "Yeah. Among other things." He could see Evelyn's knuckles whiten on the spatula handle, at the sudden serrated edge in his voice. "Like I said, things have been rough lately."

"How much did you lose?"

A flash of red hair. Cold, dark blue eyes, inscrutable through his half-remembered fear. Running, running - torn leather around his neck, unfamiliar mountains. A hundred years. "A hundred years, all the way back to when I first came to Earth. I - that's not much, I know, you got it way worse, I just - you understand, don't you?"

Evelyn nodded. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course I do," she said gently. "I know exactly what you mean."

The warmth of her hand was like fire melting away ice; Jake felt something churning in his chest, all sharp edges and old rust, and he took a breath so deep his ribs hurt. Evelyn stepped out of the kitchen and gently closed the door. "It was twenty years," Jake whispered. "I went twenty years thinking they - they'd just died, or something, after we'd been exiled, but then we killed it, and I - I remembered what happened to me. How they kicked me out."

Evelyn's brow furrowed.

"They exiled me. Remember? I was the first, Evelyn, I - I was the -"

How could he have _ forgotten? _His eyes stung; he scrubbed at them, looking away from her. Something swelled in his throat. "Sorry. Fuck, I'm just. I'm real fuckin' tired, Evie, I'm sorry -"

"You don't have to apologize, it's okay," Evelyn whispered. She glanced at the sofa, where Duck and Indrid were still asleep, and looked back. "Jake, you need to get some sleep. Doctor's orders. I have a doctorate now, I can say that to you." He rolled his eyes, and she gave him a good-natured pat on the shoulder. "Listen, I'm always here if you need to talk."

_ Not about this, _ he didn't say. How could he, when the woman who'd been Evelyn's guardian for years - the closest thing she'd had to a mother - was the same one who'd stood by and said nothing when the Interpreter had thrown him out? His nightmares were haunted by Vanessa: up there on her pedestal, wearing her council robes like armor, staring down at him with her eyes colder than any Himalayan winter. There were some things that he just couldn't talk about. Not with her.

Could he with anyone?

"Okay," he said softly. "I'll... head to bed, I guess."

"You got it," Evelyn said. "Take a couple hours; we'll get something whipped up for you for breakfast. You didn't... get hurt or anything, right, after last night?"

"I was just taking a moment by the gate, after last night, and I fell asleep. It's no big deal."

Evelyn's eyebrows flew up. "That shit's not comfy at all, Jake, goddamn," she said. "Last time I knew you, you could barely sleep on anything less than a down mattress. Since when could you just pass out on the forest floor?"

Phantom roots dug into his back. He could still feel the grit of the earth under his palms, hear crinkling chip bags as they were thrown away; the faint stench of motor oil and exhaust, soot smudged on his cheekbone. Borrowed leather jackets. Strawberry kiwi Capri Suns. A soft awakening in a slow dawn. 

He swallowed, and did not say anything for a long time. "You didn't meet them," he said. "But... for a while, there was someone who made it easier."

Evelyn's mouth fell open slightly, but she said nothing. The silence became too much for Jake to bear, and he backed away, letting Evelyn's hand slide off his shoulder. "See you in a bit," he said, heading for the stairs. He gave Duck's and Indrid's discarded shoes a wide berth on his way.

* * *

The stairs creaked softly as Jake went back upstairs. Duck stared at the ceiling; his ears tracked the Sylph's path back to his bedroom. As the door creaked shut, he felt his body recoil into the sofa, cringing guiltily away from the staircase. 

He'd been awake the minute the kitchen door creaked open, and he'd heard every word Jake said. Words that he was never meant to hear. But fuck, that wasn't something he could have just torn himself away from. That pain in Jake's voice was too strong for him to ignore. Jake had changed so much since January, going from a bubbly, out-going young man to a tired, quiet shell. 

Duck's stomach churned, thinking about what Jake had said. A hundred years, nearly half his life, just... completely gone. And he'd gone 20 years believing that none of it had ever happened. He'd never wanted to give the kid a hug more in his life.

As a door down the hall creaked open, Indrid stirred in his arms and took a slow, deep breath. Duck immediately pretended to yawn. "Morning," he said to the top of Indrid's head.

Indrid grumbled something and burrowed further into the sofa. Static electricity crackled in his hair, and he winced. "Hrm," he muttered. "G'morning. Someone's... cooking pancakes? Where are we?"

His glasses had come off sometime during the night; Duck glanced around and saw them neatly folded on the coffee table. Whoever'd put them there must have also draped an afghan over them as they slept; he blamed Mama. "We just passed out on the couch last night, I guess," he said. "Long fuckin' day yesterday, huh?" Indrid groaned and put his glasses on again, slumping onto Duck's chest. Duck patted him on the back.

Behind him, there was a loud clatter as someone tripped. "Shit!" hissed a familiar voice. "Damn it, whose fucking shoes -"

"Oh, fuck, sorry," Duck said, twisting around. Stern was standing behind them, bracing himself against the armchair; Indrid's shoes and Duck's boots were in a haphazard pile near his feet. His hair was still a bit damp, sticking every which way after a haphazard towel-dry. "Mornin', Stern. Sorry for that, uh... rude awakening."

Stern nodded jerkily. The shadows under his eyes seemed darker; he clearly hadn't taken advantage of the weekend to sleep in a little bit. He really held himself to that damn schedule. "It's alright, don't -" He yawned. "Don't worry, no harm done. I needed it. Is there coffee?"

"Sounds like there's a pot brewing, let's go and check. Move, you." Duck gently shoved Indrid in the shoulder. Indrid laughed softly and rolled towards the back of the couch, letting Duck out. He shambled towards the kitchen with Stern, grimacing at the stale taste in his mouth. "You sleep well?"

"Barely," Stern grumbled. "Not to be all 'don't talk to me until I've had my coffee,' or anything, but -"

"Point taken." There was a soft thump behind them; Duck glanced over his shoulder and saw Indrid snap the afghan over the back of the sofa. His eyes froze on the curve of Indrid's shoulders, the flex of his back under his shirt as he leaned over, smoothing the blanket into place. His mouth went a bit dry, and he swallowed.

He didn't realize he hadn't stopped walking until his knees rammed into the side of the armchair. Stern snorted. "Hey, you ran into it too," Duck said, shoving him in the shoulder. "Fuck off." Stern just shook his head, smiling, and pushed open the kitchen door.

The kitchen was getting a bit crowded already, with Jane plating up some scrambled eggs and Evelyn leaning against the counter, nursing a mug of coffee. Stern shimmied past them and made a beeline for the cabinet above the sink, where the mugs were stored. He wordlessly passed Duck and Indrid a couple; Indrid filled his with water and stuck it in the microwave, rummaging around for a box of tea. 

Stern was elbow-deep in the cabinet looking for his mug. Duck leaned against the countertop by Evelyn, waiting his turn at the coffee machine. "Morning," he said awkwardly. He still didn't know what to do or say around her.

Evelyn smiled back. "Hey, morning. Sleep well?"

"Yeah! Yeah, uh... well enough, that couch is pretty damn comfy."

"News to me." Evelyn sipped her coffee. "Back in my day, we had this godawful itchy plaid sofa; you'd have to wear a full-body snowsuit or be really, really tired to fall asleep on it and not care."

"Oh, those couches?" Indrid said, over the buzzing microwave. "Duck used to have one like that in his apartment. We got rid of it this year."

"Why, 'cause it itched?"

"No, because it was like sleeping on a sack of boulders."

"Was it the same couch Ma gave you after college, Duck?" Jane said over her shoulder. "That was twenty years ago!"

"Yeah, fuck off, it did its job," Duck said. Jane laughed and went back to the eggs. Stern made a faint victorious sound and seized a mug, setting it on the counter.

"I've gotta say." The microwave beeped once; Indrid pulled out his mug and dropped a teabag into it. "I am _ incredibly _grateful that you didn't make me sleep on it when we first met." He winked at Duck, so fast that Duck would have thought it was a blink; he felt his cheeks flush.

"Yeah, forcing someone to sleep on that couch is a hate crime in at least four states," Jane said. Duck flicked a bottle cap off the countertop at her; it hit her in the elbow, and she tried to whack him with the spatula. He dodged, nearly elbowing Evelyn. "Hey!"

As Indrid chuckled and sipped his tea, a floorboard creaked outside the kitchen. Duck tensed as the door swung open, revealing a complete stranger on the other side. Indrid glanced over his shoulder, went back to his tea, and did a double take. "Oh, Boyd! Good morning!"

So this... this was Boyd Mosche. The man who saved Evelyn. A man so deeply entrenched in the Lodge's history that it as a miracle Duck hadn't heard of him sooner. A man that was such a crucial - and conflicting - part of Ned's past, that when Ned heard he was there, he turned around and left without a word.

He was nothing Duck had expected. Though, frankly, he didn't have much to go on before. Evelyn and Vanessa had described him as a British twat, and he'd heard him playing the violin the night before; his mind had spat out a tall, rakish, devastatingly elegant yet distinctly douchebaggish man with a British accent. At least he'd gotten the tall part right. 

Boyd Mosche looked like a rugby player, all hard muscle and broad shoulders, with a kicked-to-shit face and a nose that had probably been broken at least three times. He had a bruise on his jaw and a bandaged scrape on the side of his head. His clothes were rumpled and bloodstained, as if he'd fallen into bed with them on the night before - Duck couldn't fault him on that, honestly, he was in the same boat - and his arms were covered in tattoos. Duck could see a pair of scales, what looked like a koi arcing up his bicep, and a strange polygonal shape on the inside of his left wrist.

All in all, he looked terrifying. A thug. The physical manifestation of hired muscle. No wonder he and Vanessa got along.

The kitchen had fallen completely silent, save for the hiss and pop of the eggs in the frying pan. Stern's shoulders visibly tensed; Duck could see him angle his body, making sure he could get a look at Boyd from the corner of his eye. The coffee pot spluttered. "Hey, Indrid," Boyd said quietly, giving him a mock salute. He met Evelyn's eyes and beamed, and his entire face changed; smile lines and wrinkles around his eyes deepened, making him look miles friendlier. Duck couldn’t help but start to like him.

Then his gaze froze on Stern's back. Boyd leaned to one side, then to the other, trying to look around him. "Oi - hang on,” he said indignantly. “The hell do you think you're doing, Agent?"

"Getting coffee," Stern said, in a low, flat voice. Duck and Jane stared at each other, eyes wide. Oh, boy. Indrid sipped his tea, watching the interaction with one raised eyebrow.

The corner of Boyd's mouth twitched, into what Duck thought was a joking smile. Evelyn looked like she was trying not to chuckle, too. "No, with the mug, you fucking prick," he snorted, picking up the whisk that Jane had used to mix pancake batter. He jokingly pointed it at Stern. "That's mine. Let me at it, you -"

The whisk entered Stern's field of view. He unfolded like a butterfly knife. With one smooth motion, he grabbed Boyd's wrist and slammed it into the edge of the countertop. 

If anything, the silence got even deeper. The whisk clattered into the sink. As Jane stared, open-mouthed, Evelyn slowly moved the eggs off the burner; her stifled smile had completely vanished. The two men stared at each other for a few shocked seconds, hand still locked on wrist over the sink. "I was just messing around," Boyd said softly. "It’s a whisk, not a knife, Jesus fucking Christ -"

Stern flinched away like he'd been burned, holding up both hands. "Sorry," he said. He sounded genuinely apologetic. "I… sorry. It's early. Shiny metal thing aimed at me in my peripheral vision, you know, it makes me a bit jumpy.” 

Now that Stern had let go of him, Boyd seemed to get his composure back. He straightened his shirt and muttered, “Yeah, figures.” Stern’s eyes narrowed. “Now can I have the mug back?”

Stern turned towards the machine. “How do you take your coffee?"

"Sorry?"

"Coffee. How do you take it?"

"Uh. Black," Boyd said cautiously. "Three sugars."

"Alright." Stern filled the mug and added three sugar packets. Then he went to the fridge, grabbed the carton of half-and-half, and dumped a solid three glugs of cream into it. Duck choked on his laughter. He’d never seen Stern be this sarcastic with anyone in the Lodge; something about Boyd was bringing out a completely different side of him.

"Oh, come on, that's just -" Boyd threw his hands in the air, and stretched one out towards Stern. "That's just fucking rude, mate, give that here."

"Why?" Stern said, sipping from the mug. His eyes twinkled with something just shy of humor. Something drier, sharper. "The mug's mine. I got here first."

"Well, I owned it first! It was my mug for fifteen fucking years!"

"He's right," Evelyn said softly. Boyd gestured at her, a triumphant look on his face.

Stern was unmoved. "There's one exactly identical to this in the cabinet."

"This one's got a chip on the rim, that's how I know it's mine."

"And you've got a chip on your shoulder." Stern raised the mug in a mock toast. "Finders keepers. Better get up earlier next time. You're a bit out of the loop - I've been using this mug ever since Barclay started letting me in the kitchen."

"He never should have," Boyd spat. "Get your grubby cop hands off my mug, you fucking narc."

It was like a door had slammed behind Stern's eyes. His face became completely expressionless. Without another word, he turned and left the kitchen, letting the door close a bit too hard behind him.

Now that... that was a fucking low blow, and Duck knew it. There was no way that Boyd knew the depth of what Stern had gone through, and how he'd been working to keep the FBI off their back all these months. He'd only been here for a day. Nobody had the chance to tell him what Stern had gone through - with all the rest of them - with the Ashminder. 

Stern was one of them now. But it didn't seem like anyone had looped Boyd in on that little secret.

As Stern's footsteps disappeared down the hall, Boyd took a deep breath and sighed. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, looking like was about to start tearing it out. "That went well."

"Indeed," Indrid muttered, sipping his tea. 

Boyd glared. "You fucking prick, why didn't you say something? Whims of fate said not to lift a finger?" 

And yet, there wasn't a bit of heat behind his glare. His eyes glittered, and the corners of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to hide a smile. Something about the way he said it made Indrid grin, in a vicious flash. Mirroring him. Grinning man, indeed. "Fate said you needed to be humbled," Indrid said loftily. "Or maybe just decaffeinated. You look like you need a decade of bed rest."

"Is that any different from usual?"

"What's usual, these days?" Indrid commented. Boyd's brash grin turned wistful. "Well, some things, I think, never really change."

"So you're saying I’ve always been an unkempt, scruffy bastard?"

"You're putting words in my mouth. But yes."

Boyd let out a wheezy chuckle that sounded like a car engine failing to start. He turned back to the cabinet and grabbed a random mug, with obvious distaste. "So what's the deal with the cop, anyhow?" he said, pouring his coffee. "Vanessa gave me a rundown, but I was in so much pain that I didn't hear a damn thing."

"Yeah, I'd like to know, too."

Jane's sudden voice made Duck jump. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she said, "but... I'm under the impression that y'all are trying to stay under every radar you possibly can. And Stern's an FBI agent, so... that's a bit counterproductive, I think." 

Boyd gestured at her triumphantly. "See, I like her," he said. Jane's cheeks turned pink. "She's asking the right questions. What in God's name was Mama thinking, letting him come here? What's he even here for?"

Duck felt a strange sense of foreboding, as Indrid took a sip of his tea. Everyone else's gazes turned to him. "Uh," he said. "Well - he originally showed up here 'cause - uh. Y’know. The FBI wanted him to find Bigfoot, and he got a lead that took him here, but some shit happened and he found out about us. And… well, couldn’t leave him lying around, so we took him in.”

Boyd grunted. “Huh. And how on earth did he figure out to come here, eh? Barclay’s always played his cards close; I can’t imagine he’d slip up quite so easily.”

Indrid was silent.

Duck gripped his mug tighter, feeling the heat bleed into his fingertips, and tried not to imagine the sound of it shattering on the floor. The truth of why Stern was here would be so, so easy to tell him - but Christ, that would be a bad fucking idea. Oh, Stern was here because a certain Ned Fuckin' Chicane caught Barclay on video, and his assistant uploaded it and it went viral? He couldn't just say that to Boyd. Ned wanted nothing to do with the guy. Duck would never forgive himself if he was the one who sent Boyd to Ned's doorstep.

Boyd's strange blue eyes were fixed on his, unblinking and cold. Duck swallowed and tried to keep going. "He -”

"You should probably ask Stern about it yourself," Indrid said over him. Duck gave him a grateful look. "He'll give you a short enough answer."

"Yeah, that short answer will probably be 'fuck off.'" Boyd sipped from his coffee cup, grimaced, and grabbed the box of Splenda packets. "And mine'd be the same. The day you see me striking up a conversation with that narc is the day hell freezes over."

"Hell is a city in Michigan, and it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to tell you that's frozen over a dozen times," Indrid said dryly. "Could be worth it."

Boyd tore open three packets at once and emptied them into his coffee mug, scowling. "Not how I see it," he said. "Not that it wouldn't help, but there's just... no point. It's exhausting being in the same room with him." Indrid made a noncommittal noise and sipped his tea again. "What?"

"What?"

"That noise."

"What noise?"

"You know something I don't, mate, spill it. Why'd you make that sound?"

"I didn't do anything! Tell you what, Boyd," Indrid said. "Let's catch up on things. Hash this out. You ask me what you need to know, I'll tell you what I'm at liberty to. Threatening our resident FBI Agent with a whisk isn't a great foot to get off on with him."

"He started it," Boyd muttered. 

"I'm sure," Indrid said placidly. "C'mon, get. Let's go to the living room." He gently shoved Boyd towards the door; Boyd went with only a little grumbling. Indrid glanced over his shoulder at Duck. "I'll cover for you and explain," he said quietly. "Boyd's... got a bit of a nose for bullshit."

"Yeah, I figured," Duck sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Christ, that could’ve been a bad one. Thanks for savin’ me, ‘Drid, I appreciate it.”

"You were trying to cover for Ned?" Indrid said. Duck nodded, and he sighed. "Yeah, that's going to be a tough one to sort out," he said. "I'll talk to Boyd, see if I can probe out what's changed and what's not. I don’t know their history as well as I should."

"That... sounds like a plan. Should I head out?"

“It might be for the best; he’s never trusted strangers. I'll chat with him, see what his deal is,” Indrid said gently, giving Duck a peck on the cheek. “In about twenty minutes, Winnie's going to start shredding the sofa because she's hungry."

That non sequitur made Duck jump. "Oh, fuck, really?" he said. "Jesus Christ, I'd better go take care of her -"

"Yes, go, godspeed," Indrid said, gently shoving him towards the door. "We'll figure something out for lunch, alright?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. See you in a bit, okay?"

Indrid just waved, disappearing back into the kitchen to get some food. Duck made a beeline for the living room, where Boyd was standing by the window, bemusedly holding the torn-down curtain and staring at the rod. Duck laced up his boots and hastily kicked Indrid's shoes out of the way, so nobody else would step on them. The morning sun was well and truly shining through the dome, now, and a few doors were open up and down the first-floor hallways. Stern’s, however, was firmly shut.

Boyd gave him a perplexed stare as Duck grabbed his coat, barreling out the door. "What are you -"

"Later," Duck blurted out, closing it behind him. As he got into his ranger truck to drive off, he caught a glimpse of Boyd watching him through the window, with an inscrutable look in his eyes. Something crossed over his face as he watched Duck's truck. He quickly put the curtain back on the rod, lifting it back into place, and it was as if he had never been there.

* * *

Kepler took a long, long time to wake up. The sleepy ski town took advantage of these summer mornings, where the only thing moving before dawn was the Greenbrier River itself. Kepler’s local coffee shop was the only business open on Sunday mornings; the town’s few early birds could often be seen wandering down Main Street for a cup of joe or a pastry. Summer was on the horizon, its promise fresh and verdant in each of the forest’s flashes of green.

Duck took the long way down to his apartment, though - taking his time on corners, letting the truck roll gently over bumps in the pavement, glancing at the trees flanking the road. It was easy to get through town at this hour, without a single pedestrian in sight. 

He was completely unprepared, then, when a Pepto-Bismol-pink blur dashed from the trees and slammed right into the side of the truck. 

"Jesus fuck!" he yelped, slamming on the brakes. He glared, open-mouthed, out the driver's side window. "The hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled through the glass.

Perfectly-manicured nails clattered on the window. Duck reluctantly rolled it down. All he got for his troubles was a disdainful pout. "Ranger Newton," Muffy said, aghast. "Well, I never - you could have _ hit _me!"

Great. Muffy the Ski Bunny. The exact person Duck needed to see to make his whole day go south. He had no idea what her last name was, because despite the crap that she and her canoodling boy toy got up to in the woods, she had never been formally written up. It was probably something obnoxious like "Figginsworth" or "Northumberland-Fritzlewald." 

Beacon stirred on the passenger seat, metal plates clinking. “Glorious,” he drawled. “This insipid _fruit bat_ has graced us with her presence.”

Duck swatted him off the passenger seat and onto the floor.

"Ranger Newton," Muffy said, voice dangerously light. "You seem... distracted. Lot on your mind?"

_ No, I'm planning an escape route, _ Duck did not say. "You did just slam into the side of my truck," he said. "Forgive me for bein' a little thrown off by that."

"I think I was justified, Ranger," Muffy said. "I do, after all, have a bit of an important request."

Alarm bells went off in Duck's head. Great; she needed something. This couldn't be good. "And you couldn't have just walked 'bout ten yards ahead of the truck, instead of walking right into my goddamn path?"

She lifted a hand and loftily examined her nails. "I had to get your attention _ somehow, _ Ranger Newton."

"I'm not on the fuckin' clock, Muffy -"

"Language!" she gasped. "My goodness, in the presence of a lady? How crass! How _ unwarranted!" _

Duck resisted the urge to turn back to the steering wheel and floor it. "Listen," he said wearily. "Listen. If you're gonna try and fuckin'... dance around the subject and waste my time, I'm just gonna head home, okay? I got a cat to feed and a load of dishes to do, I -"

Muffy recoiled, her perfectly-lipsticked mouth twisting into a disdainful frown. "Well," she sniffed. "If you're not going to help defuse the situation, then I suppose I'll just have to let it blow. Cheers and farewell, Ranger." She turned away.

Situation? Duck frowned. "Wait. Wait, hang on." He glanced over his shoulder - nobody was coming - and shut off the engine so he could hear her. Muffy turned back, one eyebrow raised. "There's a situation? What - what's goin' on?"

"What's _ going on?" _ Muffy sniffed again; Duck wondered if she had some kind of head cold. "What's _ going on _ is that some of my dear, dear friends from out east have come to visit for the weekend, and they have all accompanied me and my dear snuggy-poof on a hike."

Duck's stomach turned; he tried to give her a bland smile, but it felt more like a constipated grimace. "Yeah, I saw the caravan," he said wearily. The line of brand new SUVs had chugged through Kepler like a freight train, headed right for what passed as the swankiest hotel on Resort Row. "So what are they up to? Someone get hurt?"

For the first time in their conversation - hell, the first time since Duck first met her, about 3 years ago - Muffy looked a little uneasy. "Someone's about to," she said darkly. "My honey and I hiked along the Greenbrier for quite some ways, and we happened upon a clearing not a hundred yards from here -"

Duck glanced away from her, scanned the trees. There was a trail marker close by, and he squinted at it. North Star Trailhead. The place he was at in the forest suddenly locked into place in his mind, like a slamming door. Uh oh.

"And just as we came into the clearing..." Muffy's hands fluttered anxiously, and she laced them together in front of her chest. Her lip curled. "Some of Kepler's... _ hooligans, _ that nasty biker gang, came out of the trees, and started - they started making _ fun _of us!" 

"Oh, the horror," Duck said dryly.

Muffy nodded fervently. "It was mortifying!" she said. "And, well. Dear old Linda and Charles, bless their hearts, they're retired lawyers, and when they saw the old rotten shack those hooligans were crawling around, they... tried to force their way in."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Okay, I'm on my way," Duck said, reaching for the keys. 

"And they - what?" Muffy said faintly.

"The way this is going," Duck said wearily, turning on his truck again, "it sounds like your lawyer friends are gonna get clocked in the head with a lug wrench, if they're not careful."

"Precisely!" Muffy exclaimed. 

"Lemme just get this truck off the road, and I'll head on out to where y'all are."

Muffy seemed to hesitate. "You... know what's happening?" she said, eyes narrowed. 

Duck nodded once and drove the truck off the road, into a neat space of mowed grass. "You'd be surprised how often someone calls this in," he called out the window. “I know exactly what's goin' on."

"Oh," Muffy said. "Well - lead the way, then." 

She sounded faintly disappointed. It sounded as if she was expecting him to take her and her friends' side. But she was setting herself up for disappointment; if she cared to know anything about him, or the "hooligans" she was accusing, she'd know that Duck Newton would take the Hornets' side in damn near anything.

It was a common complaint, this one. About five years ago, the Hornets discovered an abandoned, rotting greenhouse in the overgrown woods across the highway from the Hornets' Nest. It had been there since Duck was hired as a forest ranger, and at one point the forestry service was going to tear the place down, because it was a fire hazard. But the Hornets got there first. 

After some renovation and brush-clearing, they got the place refurbished and started growing plants in them. Everyone in town was surprised when they mostly grew flowers and fresh veggies; there'd be fresh red poppies on Craig Tacy's grave every June, and when Duck walked past their greenhouse, he could see that they'd pruned the rosebushes, bringing the place back to life.

Most folks around town saw the greenhouse for what it was: a greenhouse. Nothing more, nothing less - just a place where the local punks could use their surprising green thumbs to do some good. But out-of-town hikers... they'd never gotten the message. They'd go on hikes every now and then, pass through one of the trails, see the Hornets' little side project, and lose their fucking minds. If Duck tried to count how many times he or the cops had gotten complaints about the place, he'd run out of fingers and toes. 

And he got it. To the outside eye, punks growing shit in a heavily-guarded greenhouse looked suspicious as fuck, and even illegal. But Duck trusted them. It was better than some of the shit he knew they were capable of doing. At least they were respecting the forest; he could always get behind that.

He strode down North Star Trail, keys fisted in one hand and badge at the ready in the other. Muffy scuttled behind him, her waffle-soled hiking boots clunking on the packed dirt. He would have sworn he could see her pink windbreaker radiating off the tree bark, as if she was under a blacklight. The forest unfolded before him, all twisted branches and rustling ferns. The sun arced just a bit higher; the wind picked up, tossing the canopy back and forth, and slivers of bright blue sky filtered through. 

The sunlight stung his eyes. Duck thought of the soft, awed sound Indrid would make, at the way light filtered through the leaves, and let a goofy smile cross his face. Muffy was behind him - there was no way she'd be able to tell. Indrid always loved the patterns that sunlight made on the forest floor. 

As they got closer to the greenhouse, though, shrill voices and angry shouts reached his ears. Duck groaned and picked up the pace. Pity he couldn't be spending this morning in better company.

The clearing with the Hornets' greenhouse resolved itself in flashes between tree trunks. Raised voices, some shrill, some deep. A clenched fist; leather jackets; fancy backpacks, a few flashes of glitter. Someone taking a swig from a blue Hydro Flask. A baseball bat spiked with nails. As he stepped into the clearing, the image resolved: at least nine Hornets, including Hollis themselves, were standing in front of the door to their greenhouse. 

On the other end of the clearing were Muffy and Winthrop's friends, Winthrop himself standing at the very back. It was the kind of crowd that made Duck’s heart shrivel up a bit, just looking at them: a host of baby boomer-looking out-of-towners in North Face gear and yoga pants, congregated in a snooty clump at the base of a tree like a brood of annoyed hens. Duck took a deep breath and slowly let it out, as if the act of breathing would bring the conflict resolution classes he'd taken for work to the surface. Hoo, boy. This could be a mess.

"What do you_ mean, _ there's nothing inside?" 

In the middle of the clearing, a short, red-faced man stood nearly chest to chest with Hollis, shaking a finger in their face. Hollis just looked down their nose at him. They leaned on their baseball bat like a cane, waiting for the man to stop. 

"We can see right through the goddamn window! You're growing stuff in there, and we deserve to see it!"

"Charles, for God's sake -"

"Hey, dumbass!" Keith shouted. "You can't roll cilantro in a fucking joint and smoke it!" The Hornets hooted with laughter. "I mean," he added, "you can, but it tastes like ass." Hollis turned and gave him a flat, disapproving look, but Duck could see the corner of their mouth twitching.

"You watch your goddamn mouth," the man - presumably Charles - spat, pointing at Keith. Keith held up his hands in mock defeat, trying and failing to bite back laughter. "You don't have a license, you - you're - this setup's illegal! You can't just fuckin' -"

As the man yelled, Muffy skittered from behind Duck and joined her small group of friends by the tree. The neon sear of her windbreaker caught Hollis's eye. They slowly turned towards Duck, every inch of their face flat with boredom. "Duck," they said, leaning on their baseball bat. Charles the Lawyer flinched, arms flying up to cover his head. "Thank fuck, I thought Muffy was gonna go get Keith’s dad or somethin’. Thought you were off duty."

"You know my schedule now?" Duck said. The corner of Hollis's mouth twitched again. "I'm teasin'. Hey. Take a step back, Hollis, I'll handle this."

"Good luck," Hollis said dryly, swinging their baseball bat up onto their shoulder. Charles covered his head again. "This chucklefuck hasn't stopped screaming for -"

"What did you just call me?"

Hollis closed their eyes and took a slow, deep breath. Their eyelids glittered a faint gold. "Five whole minutes," they finished. "But better you than me."

"Who the hell is this?" an irate woman near the front of the group said. She looked like someone had melted a wax figure of Laura Dern. "Muffy, who'd you drag into this?"

Duck sighed and pulled his ID from his pocket. "Ranger Duck Newton," he said plainly, flipping his wallet open and showing his Forest Service ID. "It's a nickname. Muffy flagged me down and brought me over here. What seems to be the trouble?"

The minute Duck showed him the badge, Charles the Lawyer seemed to puff up with importance. "An officer of the law, thank _ goodness," _ he sighed. Duck sighed, putting his badge away. "A bit unprofessional in his attire, though, don't you think, Linda?" He turned to the Laura Dern lookalike, who wrinkled her nose and nodded. "A bit out-of-uniform?"

Duck gritted his teeth and smiled. "Muffy caught me drivin' home on my off day, sir, I'm not on the clock," he said. "But I'll do what I can to get y'all out of here as soon as possible."

"I _ don't _want to get out of here as soon as possible - I want you to do something about those idiot children," Charles spat, gesturing at the greenhouse. "Now, listen, I may not know much -"

"Accurate," muttered one of the Hornets.

"- but it seems like you're familiar with this little group of delinquents. Is that accurate?"

"Yep, we all live here," Duck said.

"Then why haven't you done something about this godforsaken shack?" Charles snapped. 

"Because there's nothing illegal in it, sir.”

"How do you know?"

Duck glanced at Hollis. "There's nothing in it," they said. Duck looked back at Charles and gestured at them, without a word.

"Are you telling me," Charles said, voice rising, "that you'd be taking the word of this village idiot over our evidence?"

"I got an 1100 on the SAT, man, fuck off," Hollis said.

"That's -"

"I'm listening to them over you, sir, because you're not the first to raise this complaint," Duck said over him. "There’s nothing going on. Y'all gotta stop harassing these folks, man. Let them have a minute of peace. Finish your hike. It's a beautiful morning."

"You don't have a goddamn leg to stand on," Charles sneered. "There's no proof. None!"

"Sir, someone called the cops on this place last week and they didn't find jack shit," Duck sighed. He took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I'm gonna have to ask you and your party to move along, mister. This ain't worth it." Charles opened his mouth and took a deep breath - "And you're trespassing on private property. You try to force your way in there, these kids are well within their rights to call the cops."

"The clearing is public property," Charles said smugly. "It's forest land."

"Yeah? And I'm a forest ranger. This is where I step in. And I'm askin' you folks to leave." Duck pointed at the trail he and Muffy had come from. "You're causing a disturbance and harassing Kepler residents. This is a fuckin' disgrace. Move it along."

The sudden steel in Duck's voice made fear flash through Charles' eyes. He gulped. "I -"

"Now," Duck said. "Please don't make me ask twice. Have a nice day." Charles' face turned a clammy, embarrassed pink, and he scurried off. The rest of them followed him, murmuring to each other and casting Duck fearful looks. Muffy marched past, nose in the air, resolutely ignoring him. Duck rolled his eyes and turned his back to them. "Sorry about that," he said. "Hope they didn't give you too much trouble."

Hollis watched the gaggle of hikers leave; they thoughtfully rolled their tongue over their lip piercing and said, "If we'd had anything illegal in there, would you have still stuck up for us?"

"You know I would have," Duck said. "'Sides, that's your own bed to make and lie in. Don't say I didn't warn you." Hollis grimaced, ducking their head. "For liability's sake, though -" He glanced over his shoulder, watching as the last of the bougie hikers stomped out of the clearing. He winced as they stepped on some of the trailside plants. 

"Liability's sake?"

Duck turned; Hollis's eyebrow was raised, the ring in it glistening in the sun. "Yeah," he said. "In case one of the Cedrics or Lindas or Pams marches up to Sheriff Owens' desk and drags him out here. Mind if I take a look around, just in case they ask me?"

Hollis groaned, looking up at the sky. "Jesus fuck," they said, "y'all have to be fucking kidding. You cops spend almost more time here than we do."

"Hey, I'm not a cop!"

"You're a forest cop. You pulled that card on the Let Me Speak To Your Manager crew, you can't stick it back in the deck for me."

Hollis's eyes were hard, but there was still a flicker of warmth in them. Duck looked at them and remembered the kid who'd grown up in the woods surrounding Kepler and never truly left them - never really tried. Never wanted to. He'd always liked Hollis. "Yeah," he said. "Guess I can't. But hey - just one look, and I'll be gone."

Hollis shrugged and turned, gesturing at their Hornets. Keith stopped leaning on the door and slid away, giving Duck a suspicious look. "Sure, whatever," they said. "Be our guest." One of the Hornets started whistling the song from _ Beauty and the Beast, _ and someone elbowed her.

The door opened with a ponderous groan, as the old rusted hinges protested. The inside of the greenhouse was quite a sight to see; Duck was impressed. It had been nothing but a run-down safety hazard, when he'd joined the forest service in the 90's. Now it still seemed dilapidated, but in a well-loved way. The forest's tang of fresh earth and rain changed, here, into something slightly sharper but no less reassuring. The plants were in neat rows: assorted vegetables, lots and lots of flowers, a cactus or two. Old Christmas lights and glow sticks hung from the ceiling. 

Duck walked down the center aisle, glancing at the plants. A bunch of alliums sprouted from a pot, their long, skinny leaves leaning on the tulips beside them; he pointed at them. "These green onions or garlic?" he asked.

Hollis shook their head. "Garlic," they said. They drifted around to the other side of the table; Duck followed them, glancing at the other plants. They seemed incredibly healthy and lush, but he couldn't smell any fertilizer. Odd. These kids must have some tricks up their sleeves. "Cam's trying his hand at those this year. No such thing as too much garlic."

"Unless you're a vampire," Duck said. Hollis glanced up, giving him a baleful glare through a tall flower's leaves. "I'm kiddin', Jesus, it was a joke."

"If it was a joke, I would've laughed," Hollis said dryly. "Now, listen. Duck."

"Yeah, I know." Duck made a show of peeking under some pumpkin leaves, gently prodding the spear-like stem of an iris that hadn't bloomed. "I'm about done in here, I'll leave y'all to your work."

"No, I -"

Hollis hesitated. Their mouth hung open for a brief second, before they closed it. Duck frowned, as they looked away from him. "What's up?" he said.

Their mouth twisted into a sour line. "Listen," they said, wincing. "I - if this is a weird question, I'm sorry, but... you hang around Jake Cool-ice, right?"

_ "Remember? I was the first, Evelyn, I -" _

Duck swallowed. "You could say that, yeah," he said. "Why, do you -"

"Is he okay?" Hollis forced out. They immediately looked like they regretted it.

"I mean -"

"I saw him yesterday morning," Hollis said, in a frantic rush, their hands gripping the makeshift table so hard their knuckles turned white. It was as if Duck's answer had opened a floodgate; the words just kept coming. "We were walking by the river, me and Keith and a couple others, and we saw Jake walking with a couple of folks from the - from the Lodge, and... he looked sick," they said. "He was swaying back and forth, he looked like he was gonna pass out, and his eyes -"

Hollis paused.

"His eyes?" Duck said uneasily. "They - what - what was so weird about 'em?"

"Bloodshot, mostly," Hollis said. "He looked like he needed a nap or three. He holding up okay?"

"I mean," Duck said. The truth wanted to bubble up, but he squashed it down; there was so, so much that he couldn't tell Hollis, no matter how much it hurt. "He - I don't know, he kinda sorta got sick. Stomach bug goin' around the Lodge. The rest of us are kinda feelin' the effects. If you saw Dani and Aubrey, his friends, and they looked a bit sick, then that'd be why."

Hollis was staring pensively at the flower in front of them: a half-dead white tulip, with a single remaining petal. Duck felt the silence echo after his sentence and swallowed, locking his hands behind his back. "Does that... help?" he said. 

Hollis shook their head, still looking at the flower. "I... saw him again, yesterday," they said softly. They glanced at the cracked-open door. There was laughter outside, and a colorful flash - the Hornets, playing hackysack. "Last night, after sundown. I was coming back from cleaning up, after practice, and he was just... there. Out in a clearing by the Lodge."

Something in Duck's stomach solidified into a cold, hard knot. Last night. That was when they'd gone through the half-moon gate, and Jake had been there to help open it with the mirror. They'd been gone for hours. Jesus, had they left him there that long?

"I didn't talk to him," Hollis went on, "and I almost wish I did, but... fuck, that's not - “ They shook their head furiously. “I - anyway, he was just sitting on a tree stump on the outskirts of the clearing. Just. Staring into the middle of it, not saying anything." 

Their eyes lifted to Duck's; they looked worried, so worried. "He was thinking about something," they said firmly. "And I have no idea what. But whatever it is, it was... it was some heavy shit. And you've been spending more time around him, so you'd know, but. Is he okay?"

The greenhouse fell silent. There was just the whistle of wind through the open door, the laughter of the Hornets goofing off, the whisper of leaves against each other. The bones of the building settled and creaked. Duck took a deep breath and looked down at the garlic in front of them; there was a little folded index card taped to a popsicle stick, with "CAM" drawn on in blocky capitals.

What could he do? What could he say? It was touching that Hollis was still worried about Jake, even though they weren't exactly friends anymore, but there was only so much he could share - and only so much that he knew. 

He hated this. He hated that he had to say this. "To be honest?" Duck said, looking at Hollis and knowing he was anything but. "I don't know."

Hollis's eyes narrowed.

"I - listen." Duck held his hands up in a calming gesture. "Listen. I've been in this town for a long time, but I haven't known Jake super long. I don't know him well enough to know what's got him super down in the dumps. But Mama - you know Mama, right?"

"I know of her," Hollis said cautiously. "Aunt Vicky gave me lots of stories."

"Yeah, she... she knows Jake much better than I do. I'll run by her and ask, and see what she's got to say about it."

"And you'll talk to me?" Hollis said.

Before Duck could answer, the hackysack hit the side of the building, so hard that the window panes rattled. Hollis and Duck both stared at each other, then at the window. "Come on, guys, be careful!" Hollis yelled. "If you break that, you're paying to replace it."

"Sorry, Hollis!"

Duck sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Think that's my cue to leave," he said. "I got some things to take care of back home."

"Sure," Hollis said sullenly. They gestured at the door. "If you gotta go, you gotta go." 

"Yeah - but Hollis? Hey." They looked at him, eyes blank. "As soon as I get the chance, I'll get back to you. I hope I'll have a clear answer for you soon. I'm - I'm sorry there's not much more I can say."

"Yeah," Hollis said sourly. "We're all sorry for things, aren't we?" 

"Hollis -"

"Just go," Hollis said, waving a hand. They looked back down at the flowerpots and crossed their arms. "I'm not gonna keep you here, you're free to go."

"I - okay." Duck took a deep breath of the greenhouse air - fresh, crackling with life - and felt it settle in his lungs like sand. He headed for the door, sidestepping a bag of potting soil and dodging a couple of rose bushes, and stepped into the sunlight. He could almost feel Hollis's eyes on the back of his neck as he left.

* * *

The crunch of boots on dirt and rustling grass faded into the distance. Around them, the greenhouse’s old bones groaned and settled; wind whistled through a vent near the roof, drowning out the protests of the annoyed hikers. Hollis craned their neck and closed their eyes, feeling the stretch in their back and shoulders. A golden sunbeam filtered through the dirty glass. They savored its warmth for a moment before letting out a long, annoyed sigh.

Duck Newton was hiding something. It didn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure that one out, but he was definitely hiding something about Jake.

Hollis perched on one of the makeshift tables, nestling themselves between a tomato plant and some half-bloomed dark purple irises. They gently skimmed their fingers over the tomato plant’s leaves. It hurt, sometimes, to think it, but they thought that Jake would have liked this place. 

It was the Hornets' greenhouse. They fixed it; they built it; they breathed life into it, because Hollis wanted to prove to them that their hands could create as well as destroy. Every time someone new joined up, they'd take them here under cover of darkness. Their new recruit would choose a seed and a pot, plant it, and help it grow - and that was the biggest proof that they'd be worthy of running with the Hornets. Not just power, or strength, or speed. Patience, too. Kindness.

The kind of place Jake would have liked to stay in.

Hollis's fingers brushed over the leaves of their tomato plant; they turned it over, checking for bugs and spots. The leaves were healthy and green, delicate green hairs glistening in the sunlight. The flowers were opening, now that summer was coming: sepals peeling back, petals flaring, stamens and carpels just barely visible.

They shouldn't have been this worried about him - him, a boy they should have said goodbye to five years ago. But this was a place Jake would have loved, and they knew that while they built it - as if, in all their hubris, they believed that someday he might come back and be welcome.

And Hollis was worried about him. They were. That, of all things, never ended. Duck Newton wasn't telling them the full story, and they knew in their heart of hearts that everyone in that goddamn Lodge was hiding something. And whatever it was, it was hurting Jake.

They just had to figure out what. 

Hollis slid off the table and marched to the door, dodging as the hacky-sack flew towards them. The door gently swung shut, bobbing slightly on its hinges as it failed to latch. For the briefest of moments, the greenhouse was completely still. 

Then Hollis’s tomato plant blushed a vibrant shade of green, tendrils unfurling and stems thickening, and the flowers finally opened completely. And as if bowed by an invisible hand, every plant in the greenhouse leaned slightly towards the door, as if it was a cloud that was hiding the brilliant sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in other news, rich entitled douchebags can fucking choke
> 
> poor hollis. poor jake. poor everyone. at least duck and indrid are having a good time. i had a lot of fun writing stern and boyd's interactions, and honestly? i can't wait to see all that come to a head. and now hollis might be trying to get into the game! this is getting fun.
> 
> sorry for the late chapter! this one was extra long to make up for it. now that college is in full swing, i'm trying to update every two weeks, but that's not quite as regular as i would have hoped it would be. That's the thing about finally doing something i'm passionate about; all my energy is going into that, and i don't need fic as a mental health break quite as much. but im happy to say things are going very well!
> 
> i hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. let me know what you think, or what you'd like to see! i post updates for the story and relevant content on my tumblr, which you can find [here.](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) thanks for reading!


	7. Decisions, Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the following songs:  
\- ["Petricor," Ludovico Einaudi](https://open.spotify.com/track/33M9AgCbkCRyC97NjJgITh)  
\- [ "Home, pt. 2," Robert LaSalle](https://open.spotify.com/track/35dlkbgzQSWlvA37lGK3zY)  
\- [ "Ghosts of Void," Keith Power](https://open.spotify.com/track/2s55tazyU1uNZDHzZheyrd)
> 
> as well as [ the rest of the TCOS playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ) if anyone has music recs for this story, feel free to hit me up!

“Good  _ grief, _ this thing is fuck-ugly.”

The soldier next to Vincent stared up at the side of the ship, hands on their hips. Vincent turned, armor screeching softly, and raised an eyebrow at them. They grimaced. “Sorry, sir, but it is.”

Honestly, they had a point. Vincent shrugged and looked back at the ship; his armor screeched again, and he winced a bit, but at least his armor was in better shape than the ship. Most of it had fallen into the ravine. Looking down into the shadows, Vincent could see that it was all one solid piece of metal, no doubt shaped and sealed by magic. It was clearly Sylvan in construction, too; the ship’s architecture was much like their buildings, with rounded edges and intricate geometric detailing. Perhaps it had been beautiful once upon a time.

But frankly, Vincent thought it was built like a weapon of war. 

Solid, massive - it could pack a punch if anyone tried to slam it into a city, just like now. And its cargo-carrying capacities were immense. The soldiers he’d sent in to investigate hadn’t found anything suspicious - just endless rooms of different sizes, walls crusted with mold - and each one completely empty.

It was suspicious. Vincent glowered at the ground, resisting the urge to kick at the ground with displeasure. There wasn’t much that he could gather from it, not yet, and that annoyed the hell out of him.

A knife-cold breeze swept over them; wind howled in the ravine below, snapping the ship’s massive balloon like a sail in a storm. Metal shuddered and clanked with the force of the wind. All the guards around it gave the ship nervous glances. Vincent glanced over his shoulder, making sure he had a place to run in case thing started to fall. “Should we move, sir?” the soldier said.

“I think we’re good for now,” Vincent said slowly, looking back up at the ship. He squinted; there was something printed on the side, hammered in and filled with ancient, flaked-off paint. Perhaps the ship’s name? The rust had nearly gotten to it; he thought he could make out a C, or maybe an N, but -

Wings beat behind him, followed by the sound of boots striking stone. One of his officers - a small winged Sylvan, fully decked-out in grimy chainmail - had landed on a piece of rubble next to him. He flipped up the visor of his helmet. “Sir, you’d better take a look at this.”

“What?”

“We found something,” he said, eyes gleaming with panic. “On the upper level, near the cockpit -”

“You’re sure it’s a cockpit?” the soldier with Vincent said hesitantly.

“Well, it’s got a chair and something to steer with, Brenlan, you’d think it fucking is,” the officer snapped. Vincent’s ear twitched, and the officer shrank back a bit. “I - sorry. Sir. It’s -”

Vincent decided to spare him the embarrassment. “Lead the way,” he said, looking up. “Where exactly -?”

“This way.”

They snaked around to the other side of the ship, climbing a ladder to where it met the wall. The front had smashed through the wall like an executioner’s axe, tilted up, and listed to one side. All the while, the wind slammed the empty back and forth; its fabric cracked and boomed in the distance, obscured by the clouds. The wind sliced through the chinks in Vincent’s armor.

The ship’s hull had torn open when it struck the wall; there was allegedly a real door somewhere, according to the soldiers who’d gone in first, but the Quell’s noxious fumes had rusted it shut from the outside. This gap had to do. The officer led him through the gap in the wall, into what looked like an empty supply closet. The ship was so tilted that the wall had almost become the floor; Vincent almost immediately hit his shin on a shelf and stubbed his toe on the doorknob, biting back the urge to swear. The officer lifted up the door, and they dropped down into a massive room.

It was at least a ten-foot fall from the door to the wall. The officer’s wings flared wide, saving him from hitting the floor, but Vincent’s armored boots landed on a glass window in front of the controls. He heard a loud  _ crack;  _ his knees twinged _ .  _ “You alright, sir?” the officer said, alarmed.

“I’ll live,” Vincent said, gritting his teeth. He leaned against the nearest wall - the room’s floor - and awkwardly picked up his foot, rotating his ankle. The window was nearly shattered, so he shuffled onto the control panel next to it. “It’s not a… big deal…”

He trailed off and looked up. Embedded in the center of the floor, right above his head was a large chunk of translucent rock. 

“Yeah,” the officer said, voice quivering. “That’s it.”

Vincent braced himself against the floor, staring up at it. Something cold and sour settled in his stomach - perhaps it was the musty decay of this ship, the brutal shadows and mold-encrusted walls. Or perhaps it was a fear he didn’t want to name. The rock was encased in a feathery spiderweb of metal, conforming to its rugged surface on all sides. Dozens of cables threaded from it towards the walls; the vaulted, conical ceiling was open right above it, opening into the now-deflated balloon.

Something orange glimmered in the crystal’s depths. 

His skin prickled. It was foolish of him, he knew - this was a completely alien machine, a strange and terrifying thing - and there was no telling what it would do to him. But something about the light filled his chest with warmth, like he’d stepped into sunlight. Something deliciously familiar. 

“Sir -”

His gauntleted hand brushed against the web.

Deep in the heart of the crystal, the orange light grew brighter - and then suddenly faded, as the metal web vibrated gently, glowing as if it was in a blacksmith’s forge. Vincent felt his fingertips prickle and reeled back, as warmth bled through his hand. A heady rush swept through his body, making his heart pound so hard he thought he could hear his armor rattling.

_ “Sir!” _

The crystal flickered and went dim.

Just like that, the rush of warmth bled away, leaving him feeling cold and hollow. Vincent staggered back, shaking his hand like he’d burned it. His eyes blurred and unfocused; he took a deep breath and held it, searching for something to focus on and ground himself. 

It was then that he saw a flicker of white paint. His eyes locked on the wall above. A short phrase was printed next to the door they’d fallen through:

_ SANCTUARY: BRIDGE STORAGE CLOSET. _

_ Sanctuary.  _ This ship was called the  _ Sanctuary.  _ The musty air sank into his lungs, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Vincent’s eyes flickered back to the crystal - now the murky gray of old dishwater, without a single spark of orange light within. It was chillingly, sickeningly familiar. “Oh, dear,” he said faintly. 

* * *

It was the weight. That was what felt off. 

Aubrey came back to herself in lurches, squinting through dry eyes at the warm wood-paneled walls of Dani’s bedroom. The sheets were strangely flat on top of her; she and Dani both tossed and turned at night, constantly burrowing into the mattress and curling around each other. More nights than not, the blankets ended up on the floor as they slept. 

But they were smoothed down on top of her - as if she'd been tucked in. The mattress was empty beside her. A narrow shaft of sunlight streamed in through the window, making the dust motes dance. 

She caught a blurry glimpse of the alarm clock. Christ, it was almost eleven in the morning.

Aubrey struggled to sit up, grimacing at the stale taste in her mouth, and shuffled out of bed. God, she didn't want to get up. Her shoulder still ached something fierce; the salve Janelle gave her was on the nightstand, with a bottle of ibuprofen and some water, and Aubrey grabbed them both. Her limbs were heavy, exhaustion burning down to the bone; the sting of salve on her cut woke her up a bit, but she still felt off-balance and tired.

Something across the hall thumped in an awkward lurch, like someone was trying to keep their balance while tilting back a wooden chair. Aubrey set the salve down and peered into the hallway, rubbing at a crick in her neck.

That solved the mystery: she could hear Dani's voice across the hall, in Evelyn and Jane's room, a soft murmur under the quiet thumping. A pen clicked. Through the cracked-open door, she could see a tennis ball bounce off the floor, hit the opposite wall, and bounce again, flying back towards the desk in the room. 

Dani said something Aubrey couldn't make out. The tennis ball bounced one last time; it thwacked into Evelyn's palm, and she said something in response. A pen scratched across paper, and the ball did not bounce again.

It seemed like the two of them were taking Aubrey's suggestion to heart. There was a whole week between now and the next time the gate would be safely open; once that rolled around, Aubrey would go back with their letter for Fabian. She wondered briefly what they were writing about - what they'd tell their brother, for this first letter they sent back. What questions he had that they might try to answer. 

For a moment, she almost hoped that they'd put in a good word for her, but - no. Jesus. Her stomach growled, and Aubrey kept going down the hall. That wasn't their job. Hopefully, giving Fabian the letters would be a step towards him forgiving her. But all she could do was hope.

A few rooms down, the door to Moira's room was cracked open; a thin thread of sunlight flowed out, shimmering on the carpet. Aubrey could hear pages rustling and a faint cough, and peered through the door. There was a faint flutter of worry in her stomach. At this angle, she couldn't quite see Moira, but it sounded like she was awake. She didn't have a chance to check on her yesterday, because the visit to Sylvain went so long, but now -

Now could be a good time. Aubrey gently tapped on the door and held her breath.

There was a brief pause, and then: "Who is it?" 

"It's Aubrey! Can I, uh..." Aubrey pushed on the door a bit, and it creaked open.

"Yes, yes! Of course, come on in," Moira said. 

Aubrey slunk through the door, trying to keep it from opening too much. She waved slightly at Moira, who gave her a gentle smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. Moira was always an elegant woman, with hair swept back in a loose updo and beautifully cold features. She managed to look like she was ready for a red carpet at any minute, but also like Aubrey's super sweet English teacher from high school. Regal, in a friendly way. Like Janelle. Janelle was her assistant once; she might have learned it from her.

But Mama wasn't kidding when she said Moira wasn't doing great. Even with her disguise ring on - an elegant gold thing with what looked like an emerald in it - she looked like she was clipping through her blanket and pillow like a Skyrim character. "Hey, Moira," Aubrey said. "How's - what's popping? How's it going? D'you need anything?"

Moira had a book in her hands; she slowly closed it, staring at Aubrey. "I - I'm fine, thank you, Aubrey - I - what happened to your shoulder? Are those  _ claw marks?" _

Aubrey glanced down at her shoulder. The wound she'd gotten from the harpy was just barely visible, under the sleeve of Dani's T-shirt. "Yeah, that'd be it," she said. She sat down on the chair by Moira's bed and tugged up the fabric a bit; Moira winced, leaning closer. "We got attacked by something while we were crossing the bridge, but... I'm good, I think! Janelle gave me some salve, she couldn't heal me with magic but this is just as good -"

Moira nodded, her face creased in a worried frown. "Good," she murmured. "I'm glad she's got you straightened out... is everyone else alright?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Sylvain doing alright?" Aubrey grimaced. Moira sighed. "I figured as much."

"Yeah, it could be better," Aubrey said quietly. "The crystal's not doing so well, the Quell's getting stronger. And…”

Nervousness rose sharp in the back of her throat. Aubrey stared at a bit of lint on Moira’s blanket, as Moira gave her a quizzical frown. “Are you alright?” Moira said.

Aubrey looked up, eyes wide. “Me? What?”

“You trailed off a bit, there. Aubrey, what else happened?”

“There was... a ship."

Moira's fingers tightened ever so slightly on her book.

"Or something. It was like... a blimp? Do you know what blimps are?"

"Yes," Moira said faintly. 

"And it fell, right out of the clouds, and just fucking... almost slammed into the bridge, and might have hit the city.” Aubrey’s hands were laced together so tightly, she could feel her knuckles ache. “Scared the bejeezus out of me,” she admitted. “I… I don’t know what it was, but it was so  _ close, _ and I -”

“Aubrey.”

Moira had a white-knuckled grip on her book. Aubrey glanced down and realized, belatedly, that she recognized it. It was her journal. The book Janelle gave to her, back in January, that told them all about what the Ashminder was.

“How big was it?” Moira said. “How - how long would you say it was?”

“About the length of the bridge, between the city and the gate.” 

Moira swallowed, looking away. She seemed to be looking at the foot of her bed, but past it, at something only she could see. Aubrey’s heart skipped a beat. “Moira,” she said quietly. “Do you know what it was?”

“I can’t say I do,” Moira whispered. “I - I mean… I have inklings. I have fragments.” Her fingers tightened around her journal. "It doesn’t affect ghosts," she said, "what he - what the Ashminder did. But I can feel memories leaving me, all the same. You know what that feels like, now."

"I do."

"When we... pass," Moira said, "and our bodies become incorporeal, everything starts to evaporate. The senses, the memories." She smiles wanly. "It's like getting old all over again."

"Woodbridge doesn't have that problem, though," Aubrey said. "Does he?"

"Woodbridge," Moira said, with a strange bite in her voice, "hasn't been a ghost for very long. So he's lucky." 

Aubrey swallowed. The sudden vitriol in Moira's voice left something cold and painful in her stomach, even though it wasn't directed at her. "He's not so great, huh?" she said faintly.

Moira huffed. "An understatement," she said primly, sitting up straight.. "I have many feelings on that man, not all of which can be shared in polite company, and not all..." Her face fell. "Not all of which I can trust to be genuine." Her eyes flickered to Aubrey's. "The memories."

"Right, yeah," Aubrey said. "I’m s-"

Moira shook her head, eyes still closed. "No, it's alright." She tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling, and said, "It's my burden to bear, wishing things were different. One thing the ghosts and the living have in common."

Aubrey was silent.

"Tell me, Aubrey," Moira said. Her face looked vaguely apologetic, but her jaw was set. "This is... a strange question. But I -" She sighed. "I promise I have a point with this. Aubrey... why are your eyes different colors?"

Her stomach lurched. That was not a question Aubrey wanted to answer. She'd been telling people who asked - like Duck and Ned, and even Dani sometimes - that it was because she was doing magic all the time. Side effects and all. Duck believed it; one of his eyes turned blue after Minerva chose him, so it made sense that it could happen to Aubrey, too. But Moira...

She used to be Minister of the fucking Arcane. She had to know what was happening; she must already know the answer. There was a strange look in her eyes that Aubrey couldn't quite pin down. "Well," she began, mouth dry.

And then that look changed. Not into something knowing, which Aubrey had been going for. Something wistful. Something regretful. Moira pushed her journal away and took Aubrey's hand, where it rested on the nightstand. "They're different," she said gently, "because you made a choice."

A lump swelled in Aubrey's throat.

"You can still make them," Moira said. "I don't mean to sound like an old fool, but I can't always make those choices. Not the way I used to. I almost wonder, sometimes, if... no, never mind. Aubrey."

"Yeah?" she said.

Moira smiled faintly. "You're out here making choices, and I... I think I can trust you to make the right ones."

“Moira,” Aubrey said. Moira’s words sent a strange chill through her, an awkward flutter in her stomach. The right choices?  _ Her? _ “Janelle, she told me that - it was a  _ bad  _ thing, that I had to keep hiding it -”

“Just when you’re in Sylvain,” Moira said. “You don’t know who to trust over there. I wish I could give you advice, but… when I was exiled, things were already changing. Janelle and Vincent are good eggs; Woodbridge is another story entirely, but I’m not entirely sure about him. It’s better safe than sorry.”

“O-okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Moira’s smile turned reassuring. "It’s alright,” she said, squeezing Aubrey's hand and letting go. “You're finding out what you can. Keep doing that; keep learning, and hold onto what you get. Remember everything you can. It'll get you far." Aubrey’s eyes started to prickle, and she looked away.

And on that inspirational note, her stomach let out a loud growl. 

Aubrey and Moira stared at each other for a second. "Sorry," Aubrey said. "I - oof, that's awkward, I didn't mean to harsh the vibe there -"

The corner of Moira's mouth twitched. Aubrey just barely suppressed a giggle. "Suppose that's what I get, trying to instill hope in today's youth." She picked up her journal again, but did not open it, instead resting it on the bedside table. "Go get some breakfast, Aubrey," she said kindly. "I think I smelled pancakes a while earlier; there might be some left, if you're lucky."

"I'll get on that." Aubrey stood up and backed towards the door. "And I... thank you. Thanks."

Moira's eyes twinkled. "You're welcome," she said, reaching for another book on her nightstand. "Now, shoo."

"Yes, ma'am," Aubrey said, and Moira laughed. She slipped out, leaving the door open just a crack behind her.

It had gotten closer to noon during her and Moira's talk. The sun was nearly directly overhead, bathing the main room under the dome in warm golden light. It still smelled faintly like breakfast and coffee - especially near the door to Stern's room. Aubrey sidestepped what looked like a small coffee stain. He must have gotten up to get another cup and spilled some of it.

His door was firmly shut, though. Aubrey frowned at it. Normally, the door was cracked open a bit, so that people could come in to ask questions, or grab his dishes if he was too absorbed in work to bring them to the kitchen. No dice right now, though.

Someone was lying down on the sofa, tossing a scrunched-up piece of paper into the air. Indrid was in the armchair, both feet on the coffee table, as he did the crossword. "Morning," he said without looking up, slowly penciling in words.

"Hey," Aubrey said, glancing at the Sunday newspaper on the table. The ink still looked fresh; it was a county newspaper, because the towns here were so small, and most of the headlines on the bottom half of the front. were quaint local happenings. Local high school graduations; a small blurb about the Hornets and a mountain bike tournament coming up; a business in Durbin closing.

The paper was folded in half, and right along the fold was the bottom section of a photograph - something bright orange was just barely visible. Aubrey frowned and picked it up, unfolding it. "Hoo boy," she said, staring at it.

Loud and clear at the top, the headline screamed, "WALL COLLAPSES IN HARRISON COUNTY JAIL, INMATE ESCAPES." There was a mugshot right under it, taking up most of the page's top half: a scruffy man with swept-back, greying brown hair and the bristly beginnings of a beard. Flinty almost-blue eyes, a scar on his temple and a bandage on his cheek. He looked tired as hell.

Aubrey glanced up to show it to Indrid, and her eyes landed on the strange man on the couch. He was the exact same man as the one in the photo - a few years older, and with hair just a bit longer, but still looking just as tired.

"Hey, Indrid?" she whispered. "Hey. Hey, Indrid." She nudged his crossword puzzle with the folded-up front page. "Indrid."

"Mm?"

"What the fuck?"

The man kept tossing the paper into the air and catching it. His face was completely blank. Aubrey was briefly reminded of how Evelyn was bouncing that tennis ball while she and Dani wrote their letters. "What's he - Indrid, why?" Aubrey hissed, pointing at the man and showing Indrid the mugshot. "This guy fucking escaped from jail, why is he on our couch?"

Her fingers sparked, and Indrid's eyes widened. "Hey, no, no, Aubrey, don't," he said, waving his hand frantically. "Aubrey, that's - read the caption. That's Boyd Mosche."

Aubrey's mouth fell open. She looked down at the paper, skimming the caption. Sure enough, there was his name and age, with a blurb about the wall collapse. She slowly set the paper down, giving him an appraising look. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice that sounded like Moira said,  _ This is a choice. _

And Aubrey set the paper down and stuck out a hand. "Hey," she said brightly.

The crumpled-up paper bounced off Boyd's face and onto the floor. He blinked at her, face screwed up, as if he'd just woken up. "Huh?" he said fuzzily.

"Sorry if this is a bad time or anything," Aubrey said, "but uh... I just. Yeah, we haven't met, but I've heard about you." 

Boyd squinted at her; judging from his mug shot, though, that just seemed to be the perpetual state of his face. Exhausted. "Yeah, hey," he said slowly, sitting up. "You're new around here, I think."

Good grief, his accent was so weird. After months of hearing nothing but everyone's Appalachian twangs, his Britishness - somewhere on the edge of Cockney, or even Australian - was bizarre. "Yeah, I showed up around August, it's a new development," Aubrey said. "I just figured I'd say welcome back, because, um." She took a deep breath; Indrid slowly set down his pencil. "I wanted to say thanks," she said. "For saving Evelyn." 

Boyd's eyebrows flew up. "I... thanks?"

She swallowed. "I'm Dani's girlfriend," Aubrey said. And she felt her mouth turn up at the corners as she said it, because it still felt so wonderful to say it. Yes, she was Dani's - she was hers. "And when I found out she - her sister, I found out about here, and I didn't think she was dead, so I tried to... I tried to find her. Or something. And I just - I want to thank you for saving her back then. It means a lot."

Boyd's eyes were strange, now. He'd stopped squinting at her as if he'd just woken up, and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face. "Well," he said. "Glad I could be of some help. You're looking out for them, right?"

"Yeah," Aubrey said. "As best I can."

"After my own heart," Boyd said, grinning. And he sat all the way up, holding his hand out for Aubrey to shake. "Y'know, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship." Aubrey shook his hand, beaming. 

Indrid picked up his pencil again and said, "Don't get ahead of yourself."

Boyd scoffed. "What are you, a Greek chorus?" he said. "Fuck off and do the crossword, mate." And Indrid threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

It was a shame Indrid wasn't here right now. 

He always had a good eye for the dust, the dirt, the spoon that had fallen under the coffee table or cat hair on a bookshelf. They always worked better as a team, anyway; they made sure that the other stayed focused. Four hands were better than two. It was easier that way.

On the couch, Duck sighed and idly flipped through the newspaper, feet up on the coffee table and Winnie firmly planted on his lap. Now, see, that was the problem. Indrid would have shooed her off his lap by now, or Winnie would have gone to sit on his instead. How inconvenient. Duck looked down at the mass of fur and said, "Hey. You're a menace. You know that, right?"

Winnie said nothing. She merely stared at the Pocahontas Times, which Duck had open to the classifieds section, and rested her chin in the crook of Duck's elbow. Duck chuckled and gingerly reached past her to grab a pen.

At this point, he wasn't going to get any other cleaning done. He'd fed the cat; he'd done a load of dishes; he'd sorted out some laundry and hauled it down to the machines in the basement. But at some point he'd started sorting through the pile of newspapers on the coffee table, some of which were over two weeks old, and gotten trapped by Winnie. So that was it. That was just how he died.

Duck paged through the classifieds from this week again, tapping his pen against his lip. He circled a posting. 

_ Type: Class C Motorhome.  _

_ Make: Winnebago.  _

_ Model: Warrior 423RC.  _

_ Year: 1989... _

Fuck, Indrid should be here for this, too. Duck sighed heavily, and Winnie's ears twitched. She let out a soft chirp and gave him a quizzical look over her shoulder. " 'S nothing, girl, go back to sleep," he said. Her gaze turned doubtful; she sniffed and shifted on his lap, curling even more into the crook of his elbow.

It had started a few weeks ago. Duck and Indrid had gone for a walk under the stars, arm in arm, reminiscing about places they'd been and things they'd seen. Indrid, of course, had been all over, but Duck... he'd rarely left the mountains of West Virginia. He'd spent nearly ten minutes telling Indrid about a trip his family had taken to California; they'd piled into the family camper and driven cross-country. They dealt with the intolerable flatness of the Midwest; they drove through the Rocky Mountains, and nearly broiled to death in the desert; but eventually they'd made it.

And Duck had said, as an afterthought, "It was beautiful, California was. Damn beautiful. The ocean's whatever, but those trees... Indrid, you wouldn't believe the damn things, they were fuckin  _ huge! _ Almost as tall as - shit, I don't even know - taller than St. Francis, I guess, that’s the closest thing I can picture, but... God, I wouldn't mind goin' back there someday." 

He'd looked up at the sugar maples, leaves tossing in the wind. Not the same as the redwoods, but so wonderfully familiar. "Take the same roads. Go over the mountain pass. It'd really be somethin'."

And Indrid's hand had tightened on Duck's elbow, and he'd said softly, "Well. We can do that someday."

Duck didn't have his own car - just the Forest Service truck and his own two feet. And they'd been looking for something to replace Indrid's old Winnebago, anyway. So they'd been looking for a camper ever since.

As he turned the page, Winnie's ears flattened against her head, and her head jerked up. Duck hissed as her claws dug into his thigh, and he put a hand on her back. "What is it?" he said, following her stare. 

There was a knock at the door of his apartment - the main one that opened to the hallway, not the fire escape. Winnie wriggled out of his lap and leapt on top of the couch, eyes fixed on the door. Duck raised his eyebrows and set down the paper. Nobody except Leo used that door - everyone else that knew him went in through the outside stairs.

He glanced over; Beacon was there, coiled next to the stack of today's paper. Boyd Mosche's mugshot stared out of the front page. "Who is it?" he called.

A pause. Then a soft thump, as if someone had leaned against the door. "It's me, Duck, Jesus," said Jane's voice. "Open up, will ya?" Duck hurriedly put the stack of classifieds on top of Beacon and stumbled towards the door.

Sure enough, it was Jane on the other side, standing with her hands jammed in her pockets. His sister was a bit shorter than him, with chin-length brown hair tied back in a stubby ponytail, and her cheeks were dusted with freckles. She gave him a familiar lopsided grin; her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Hey, Duck," she said. "Can I, uh... is this a good time to stop by?"

"Yeah, of course," Duck said, pulling the door open a bit more. "I just saw you, man, what's the big deal?"

Jane swatted him in the shoulder. "What, office hours not open today?"

"Shoot me an email, and I'll get back to you." Jane snorted. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. C'mon, Janeway, if you're stayin' then come all the way in. Winnie's gonna make a break for it if you don't."

"Oh, shit, you're right." Jane hurried into the apartment and closed the door behind her. "See, I wanted to stop by to see her, anyway," she added. "You've told me an awful lot about her, and... well, you mentioned you got rid of the couch, too, and Evelyn's busy doin' stuff with her sister, and... yeah, figured now's as good a time as any to stop by."

"Well, I'm glad to have you here," Duck said seriously. Jane gave him a grateful smile. "You just missed me, huh?"

"Maybe a little."

On the back of the sofa, Winnie had pressed herself completely flat; her pupils were so big that her eyes were nearly all black, with just a ring of icy blue around the edges. It was hard to tell if she was trying to hide or getting ready to pounce. Jane cautiously approached the sofa, one hand held out. Winnie tentatively sniffed her hand, whiskers twitching. Her tail lashed back and forth. "She like strangers?" Jane said, raising an eyebrow.

Duck shrugged. "Depends," he said. "She liked Indrid right off the bat, but Ned took some gettin' used to. Same with Barclay. See, now, there ya go," he said, as Winnie scraped her cheek along Jane's fingernails, tail twitching in a much more friendly way. "She likes you. Ain't hard, but she likes you."

"What an honor," Jane said - but her eyes were twinkling. Duck sat back down as his sister started petting Winnie, arranging the classifieds in a slightly more orderly stack. He was almost tempted to sort them by date.

Winnie eventually decided she had enough and leapt off the couch's back, padding onto the coffee table with her tail aloft. Jane laughed softly and looked around the apartment, taking in all the signs of his life here. That was Jane: always cataloguing, always keeping track. "Hey, you got a new ship," she commented.

"Yeah, like three years ago. It's been a hot minute."

"Well, what've you been keepin' yourself busy with, these days?" Jane's soft smile turned pensive. "Monster hunting? Has that been all? Or have you taken up the trombone again?"

Duck shrugged. "Mostly, yeah," he said. "The monster huntin' bit, not the trombone bit, God. Don't remind me 'bout that."

"You were good!"

"I could play the sad 'wah wah wahhhh' sound real well, Jane, and that was about it," Duck said. Jane snickered. "But like... yeah, the monster huntin' thing's been a bit of an uh... recent development, I've gotta say."

The newspapers on the coffee table rustled, and every single hair on Winnie's body stood up. "And whose fault, exactly, is  _ that?" _ said a familiar drawling voice. "Duck Newton..."

"Duck?" Jane said.

"This is your sister? How  _ unfortunate," _ Beacon said, voice dripping with malice, "that there are more people in your family tree. I hope whatever misfortune created your pitiful, cowardly,  _ procrastinating _ self is not... hereditary."

Silence. Duck slowly moved the stack of newspapers. Beacon sat beneath them, blade gleaming in a way that could only be described as self-satisfied. "Did you just say my sister has bad vibes?" he said faintly.

"...No," Beacon said, after a long pause. "Just you."

"Duck, what the  _ hell -" _

Winnie hissed and swiped at Beacon; the sword yelped and half-uncoiled, nearly slicing Boyd Mosche's mugshot in half. "Sorry, Jane, I gotta take this," Duck said weariliy, grabbing Beacon. He practically bolted for the kitchen, ignoring Beacon's muffled curses, and threw Beacon in the junk drawer. The sword rattled against dead batteries and old receipts as the drawer slammed shut.

When he came back, Jane was staring at him from the front side of the couch. "Okay," he huffed. "I can, uh... I can explain."

"Are you gonna lie?" Jane said, eyebrows raised. "'Cause I think you're gonna lie."

"No, I'm not! I swear, I won't -"

"I can take it, seriously! Just tell me the truth -"

"Would you believe me if I said," Duck blurted, "that when I was 18, I got that talking sword from a big, tall, buff alien woman who told me I had to save the world? And I - and I said fuck that, and that's why I became a forest ranger? Is that believable, Jane?"

Both of Jane's eyebrows were raised now. She paused, openmouthed, for a split second - and then chuckled. "Yeah, I believe it," she said plainly. "And now I kinda want to meet that alien gal, too."

"Careful, Evelyn might get jealous," Duck said.

Jane chuckled again, looking away. Her smile started to fade. Duck sighed and returned to the couch, leaning on the back. "Hey," he said gently. "Earth to Janeway. You okay?"

Jane grimaced; she took a while to look back up at Duck. When she did, her eyes were completely sober. "Yeah," she said. "I - just. About that. A talking sword, Duck."

"Yeah. Ya get used to it."

"A talking sword. A  _ sword!" _ Jane threw up her hands and sat down on the couch. "A real talking sword! And aliens? Other - other fuckin'  _ planets? _ Duck, my partner's a fuckin' alien, okay, I -"

"Yeah, I've been there," Duck said, patting her shoulder. "Indrid's one too."

"At least you've had more'n a New York minute to figure out things," Jane said. "I've been back for two fuckin' weeks, man. I've gotten a faint inkling of what things are like, but that's not enough. It's just... too fuckin' confusing, okay?" She sighed sharply and ran a hand through her hair, slumping into the couch. "I didn't just come here to roast your home decor and stuff," she said. "Though that was a part of it."

"I don't expect anythin' less from you."

"Yeah, thanks. I got questions, Duck, and I'd..." Jane glanced up at him. "You're my brother," she said quietly. "I'd rather hear the answers from you."

Duck swallowed. "A'ight," he said. He came around to the other side of the couch, moving the throw pillows aside. "What d'you want to know?"

"Everything."

So Duck told her everything he knew, in the quickest terms that he possibly could. Starting from last August: when Aubrey came to town, Ned's Bigfoot hoax, the gate to Sylvain. The Beast. The Water. The Tree. How he and Indrid first met. Sometimes he felt like he was rambling, or sharing too much, but fuck - there was just so much to cover. Especially about Sylvain - which Jane was most interested in.

"Y'all went there last night?" she said. "That's why you and Indrid were passed out on the couch last night, huh, because it was a late one?"

"Yeah," Duck sighed. "It took... longer than we expected. Yesterday scared the piss out of all of us, and we were just tryin' to get answers."

"Fair enough. What's the place like?"

Duck frowned, resting his chin on his hands. "Picture this," he said slowly. "Minas Tirith."

"Got it."

"'Cept all the buildings look super round and stretched out, and Seussian, almost. Wack-ass architecture."

"Right."

"On a big ol' plateau, surrounded by a massive canyon. There's a bridge to a much, much smaller plateau, and that's where the gate to Earth hangs out."

"Got that."

"And there's a fuckin' huge crystal in the middle of the city. Usually it glows bright orange, but it's a bit fucked lately, so it's basically just a big fancy rock."

"I see," Jane said. She made an interested face and nodded. "Sounds beautiful," she admitted. "I'd love to see it someday."

Duck grimaced. "Yeah, that ain't the best idea," he said. "The planet's literally fallin' apart, and I've got a feeling that the place has stuff goin' on beyond that. They don't really trust humans -"

"I mean, we did fuck up their planet by stealing its soul," Jane said blandly. "It's only fair."

Duck blinked at her.

"Evelyn gave me a history rundown," Jane explained. She grimaced. "Sort of. She... she remembered some stuff, after the, uh... thingy took her memories." Duck's chest tightened. "But she didn't have context for 'em. She thought it was a story she'd dreamed up, for the longest time. I remember she wanted to write a book once."

"A book, huh?" Duck said faintly.

"Yeah, she thought it'd be a hell of a bestseller." Jane opened her mouth, and closed it. "Those... Duck?"

His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists on his knees. "Yeah."

"Duck, she's got scars on her back," Jane said softly, voice just above a whisper. "She's had them since college, and - and even before that, from what she's told me."

"Yeah."

"Were those - are they from... that thing? The thing that got her?"

He could feel his nails digging into the palm of his hand. "I... yeah," he said softly. "It is. It's... pretty recognizable. We all got 'em, everyone who was involved in it does." 

_ It's like a badge,  _ he didn't say, but wanted to. Duck could see the Ashminder scars on everyone, when he looked. There was that faint disc-shaped scar on the back of Ned's neck - usually hidden by his collar, but Duck knew where to look. He could see the talon's edges between the curves of Indrid's ribs, when they lay together in bed. 

He didn't have those. It had come at him from the wrong angle, in January. Its hand had done the most damage - its giant, cruel hand, long fingers and bony wrist pressing cold fire into his flesh. Duck thought about the scars ringing his whole body, like a barcode scratched into him. Hell - he could see them now just looking down. A jagged line, the width of his pointer finger, spanned the front of his bicep.

Nobody had these same scars. He was marked. In a way, it was as if he'd been chosen.

Jane took a deep breath and let it out. Her face was pained. It wasn't as if she wished she'd been a part of what happened, but Duck knew... she wanted it, in her own way, if only to understand. "You too?" she said. 

Duck nodded. 

"I'm... I'm sorry. I wish I could have been there to help."

"I'm glad you weren't, Jane. I - jeez, okay, I don't really want to talk about it, man," he said wearily. "I don't know. It - it all happened, but it's over now, and it's just a pain in the ass to hash out again. Monster hunting's a wild fuckin' business, Jane. It's a lot. It's a  _ lot." _

"Yeah, I figured. I understand. And, well. Okay." Jane cleared her throat and looked down pensively. She seemed to be gathering her words. At last, she said, "They're tellin' you that you're a Chosen One? Capital letters 'n all?"

"Yeah."

"You're hot shit?"

Duck grimaced.

"Well, not hot shit, you're just... look, okay," Jane said, waving her hand. "Shit like that's supposed to mean you've got a handle on things, y'know?"

"...Allegedly."

Jane's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Duck," she said gently. "You've got this. you really do. If there's anyone I trust to have it under control, it's you. You don't have to be a chosen one for me to believe that."

And Duck just... froze. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't put into words just how much that made his heart ache, because  _ God, _ did he wish he had this under control. He really did. 

In the silence - not entirely an uncomfortable one - the only noise was Winnie purring, as she made herself comfortable on the coffee table. She turned around in a circle on top of the sports section and settled down, eyes closed. Jane smiled softly at her, scratching her under the chin. "So," she said. "Sylvain. They got a cat that can do magic over there?"

Relieved, Duck seized on the subject change. "They sure do."

"Is he soft?"

"Never touched him, but I bet he is," Duck said, grinning.

"Think he and Winnie would get along?"

"Oh, Winnie's full of love. Look at her." Winnie was purring up a storm, eyes closed blissfully as Jane scratched her chin. "They'd get along great."

"Didn't she bite you the first time you met?"

"Yeah, 'cause I was pulling her out of Leo's dumpster. Hell,  _ I'd  _ bite someone -"

"Fair point. What about..."Jane's face screwed up. "Garfield?"

"Heathcliff," Duck corrected. "Garfield's the cousin."

Jane grimaced. "Yeah, I'm still gettin' used to that one. But yeah - Heathcliff, the cat. What's he like?"

Duck remembered the way Heathcliff had looked at him in the main entrance of the castle - an unblinking, pensive stare, absolutely unnerving. "He's... chill," he said finally. "He's a bit of a space cadet, but he's okay to be around. He studies magic and stuff there, and sometimes he makes requests, so like... if we bring him shit from our side, he'll enchant something for us. And..."

Something itched at the back of the mind - something he was forgetting. Duck frowned and glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, though he was getting the distinct impression that something was... missing. "And?" Jane said, raising an eyebrow.

"I..."

His mind went completely, chillingly blank, as realization slammed into him like a falling tree. He'd taken off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the sofa, but now... now it was gone.  _ Sometimes he makes requests.  _

Heathcliff's bounty from last night was in his jacket. 

"Fucking shit," he hissed, standing up. Winnie's eyes flew open. "Jane, d'you see my jacket?"

"Bedroom?" she said immediately.

"No."

"Bathroom?"

"No, it was - right over the back of the sofa, I swear, I left it there -"

"Did you do a load of laundry?"

"N -" It was like he'd been doused in cold water. "Yeah, I did," he said, sprinting towards the door. "Oh, _ fuck." _

There was a hiss and the sound of scattering papers, as Winnie leapt off the coffee table and sent the newspaper flying. Duck could hear Jane close the door and clatter down the stairs behind him, as he dashed down to the tiny laundry room in the basement. The washing machine rattled back and forth; it had already started the spin cycle. "Oh, no, oh no," he muttered to himself, prying the lid open and reaching right into the murky, soapy water. It reeked of lavender fabric softener.

"Duck, wait a minute -"

His first few tries got him nothing - just one of Indrid's shirts and a pair of boxers - but then he felt the slick fabric of his windbreaker, and muscled it out of the soapy water. It was sopping wet; water went flying everywhere, dripping all over the tile floor. Duck rifled through the pockets and almost immediately found the envelope.

At first it seemed like a lost cause. The envelope was soaked through, and it came apart under his finger. "Fuck," Duck whispered. "Shit, I knew I should've given this to Mama before we -"

"The stuff inside might still be fine," Jane pointed out. "You'd think a magic cat would know how to make shit waterproof." She grimaced. "God, that's gotta be the weirdest fuckin' sentence I've said in my life."

"Keep that in mind, it might get weirder," Duck said. He tugged out the paper, being sure to hold it away from the open washing machine. Sure enough, it was completely dry. He gingerly set the envelope's soggy remains on the dryer and flipped open the letter. 

For a minute, he thought he'd forgotten how to read. The words just fell through his mind, not sticking at all. As he stared at the letter, though, he realized that he could understand them. 

He just didn't want to.

"What's it say?"

Duck wordlessly showed the letter to his sister.  She tugged it out of his hands, taking a minute to examine the nice parchment, before focusing on the words. Her eyebrows drew together. " 'Show this to no one from my side,' " she read. " 'Look for crystal fire on a silver chain.' " She glanced up at Duck. "Is he always this cryptic? What the hell is this supposed to mean? And - wait, 'No one from my side?'" She squinted at the paper. "Thought he was supposed to be in tight with folks in Sylvain. That ain't right."

Duck swallowed. "Honestly," he said feebly. That was all he could manage to get out, because he thought he had an idea. _ Crystal fire, on a silver chain.  _ Crystal fire. The crystals of Sylvans who'd crossed over legally - or had at least gotten away with it - were a bright, flaming orange.

And Indrid's crystal shard hung from a silver chain around his neck.

He slowly took the letter from his sister, staring at it again. There it was: the note, in perfect spidery handwriting, with a pawprint for a signature. It was genuine. The note filled him with dread; all he could feel was ash on his skin, under a flickering orange sky. What did Heathcliff  _ want? _

Without another word, he lifted his soaking-wet jacket and slowly put it back in the washing machine. "We need to get this to Mama," he said quietly, and slammed the lid shut.

* * *

At first, she thought she’d woken in the heart of a dragon. 

The roaring winds were its breath; a distant thrum of thunder could be heard out the window, and for a moment she could pretend it was the dragon’s beating heart. Or the flex of its wings. The air bore down on her weary body - the heart’s muscle flexing, maybe, crushing her.

A fever, hot and heavy. Distant fire.

Another low  _ boom  _ rippled across the sky, and the world returned in a vaguely nauseating lurch. Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She grimaced and sat up, slowly hugging her knees to her chest; every muscle burned and twinged, as if she’d fallen down a flight of stairs while carrying a pile of books. Spots drifted in her vision; they could have been dust motes, swirling in the candlelight of her bedroom. There was no way to tell. 

That same rippling thunder tore the clouds - the whip-snap of cloth, she realized. The sky had become a massive drum. Alexandra staggered out of bed and went for the window, cautiously opening the curtains.

She’d been told about mountains, growing up. Their city was built at the base of their continent’s greatest mountain range, from which Sylvain’s crystal jutted like a broken tooth. She’d never seen them herself. These days, the Quell’s fog blocked out everything, even the sun; the only suggestion of mountains was the way light changed within the clouds. Shifting shadows; filtered sunlight.

It was as if a mountain had sprouted from the ravine around Sylvain. A massive, cruel blade of metal speared the sky, towering over the castle; it cast a deep shadow on the buildings below. Alexandra could see where it had hit the wall, burying itself in it like an ax’s blade. Rubble littered the ground at the base of the wall.

So soon after the earthquake? Fear fluttered in her stomach, cutting through her exhausted haze. Alexandra took a deep, shaky breath and clenched her fist, holding it to her chest. The ring on her smallest finger dug into her palm. 

It did little to wake her up - it just felt uncomfortable and cold in her hand. But that was alright. She had a nap to take.

Her bedroom wasn't the right place for that, though. It was too high up; too close to the sky, too near the hazy filter of daylight. Too wrong, for reasons Alexandra couldn't quite put her finger on. She dragged a blanket off her bed, slowly folded it in her arms, and hugged it to her chest. There were always places for her to sleep, on nearly every floor of the building. Reaching out to Sylvain took a toll on her. There was a couch in Janelle's office, a nest of pillows in the third floor annex, a secret room or two that were older than the War. 

This wasn't a nap for those places. As much as it made something sour churn in Alexandra's stomach, she had to go to the Council chamber. Her ring dug into her palm again, as she hugged the blanket closer to her chest.

An elevator ride and a flight of stairs later, Alexandra found herself at a secret entrance to the back of the Council chamber. Wind whistled through a gap between the floor and the wall; she could hear a soft rumble. Just listening to it made that painful thump in her chest subside. Alexandra pushed open the secret door and tiptoed inside, carefully closing it behind her.

The panel clicked; the rumbles stopped, with an abrupt and undignified snort. A massive pair of furry ears twitched. "Alexandra?"

"Hi, Heathcliff," Alexandra whispered. "Sorry to wake you, but... I need a minute."

Heathcliff looked over his shoulder, got up, and rearranged himself so his back was to the Council chamber doors. "Of course," he said gently. "You don't even have to ask.”

It was a strange routine, but one that gave Alexandra so much peace and comfort. There were days when the demands of Sylvain grew to be too much - when spells were too tiring, when the Quell's heavy darkness seemed to take root in Alexandra's soul. Heathcliff was the planet's magic, in a way; he was a piece of Sylvain, the most magical piece that was left. Just being near him was enough to lift her spirits.

And he was the softest mattress for the best naps. Not that Alexandra would ever tell him that to his face - but they both knew.

Since the Earthlings' visit, Heathcliff had moved himself into the Council chamber to be out of everyone's way. It was unfortunate, but he didn't want to go back to his cave, and perhaps that may have been for the best. Alexandra never liked it down there. Too cold, too dark; water was always dripping in distant caverns, and Heathcliff's snores echoed in there, waking her up sometimes. This would have to do. 

Alexandra lay down against his side and unfolded her blanket, nestling deep into his fur. "If Janelle comes looking for me," she said sleepily, "tell her to go away."

"Noted," Heathcliff said, a faint smile in his voice.

Her eyes fluttered shut. The distant thunder was so muffled, now, nestled in Heathcliff's fur. There was nothing but the soft embrace of his magic, and the faint, deep boom of his heart. "Unless it's for lunch."

"Also noted. Sleep well, dear one." She was asleep almost before he finished talking.

In her sleep, her hand tightened around her ring; its stone gleamed with soft, fractured blue light. Heathcliff looked down at her, worried, but said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say in this one, because i gotta go back to portfolio revisions, but oh my god... heathcliff has some fucking explaining to do. here's hoping we'll find a legitimate answer soon. Hope everyone's December is going well!! Hit me up [on my tumblr](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) if you want to shoot me an ask. have a great day!!


	8. Down Memory Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the following songs:  
\- ["Whirling Winds," Ludovico Einaudi](https://open.spotify.com/track/515hkGoOhAuUtiqrfKFiTG?si=nqafIy_8S3idxbW1yFxBSA)  
\- ["There Were Days," Kin Leonn](https://open.spotify.com/track/6JOqf329YiXuPl9Zut4cRq?si=FruuWCxUSHSZOMjeMZenTA)
> 
> \- and [the rest of the TCOS playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ?si=dYho9xVtSD2MrVAWlb--ZQ)

The laptop’s edge dug into his wrists. Gary curled his hand into a fist, feeling the knuckles pop, and put his finger on the trackpad. The sun just barely glanced off the screen; he could see everything perfectly. He knew the exact way to bring this together. Just a few more minutes, and he’d have this in the bag.

He frowned, cursor hovering on the screen like a dragonfly. Unless… yes, that was it. An opening there.

Gary dragged his queen into place. 

The chessboard on the screen glowed green at the edges, and the white king wobbled drunkenly and fell. Simulated fireworks burst over him, silent sparks trickling to the bottom. Gary sighed, leaning back, and stretched over the back of the chair. His shoulders popped. He winced. From this angle, he could see every smudge and fingerprint on the screen.

What a productive day. A real fucking productive day. He groaned and covered his face, propping his elbows on his desk. He’d played seven games of chess against the computer and won four, in the past six hours, while most definitely not working on his report at all. The words just trickled through his mind like sand in an hourglass, never quite sticking. 

It was the angle. Everything had an angle. Every report, every witness account, even field research. But that only worked when it was built on facts. This report… every bit of it was going to be a carefully crafted lie. He hadn’t been an English major in college; he wasn’t good at making shit up. Dani’s and Evelyn’s suggestions from the night before had been great places to start, as far as keeping the FBI off Aubrey’s trail went, but the rest… 

Everything was too connected. He’d have to spin an entirely new web, to keep the rest of Amnesty Lodge - and even Sylvain - from falling into anyone’s hands.

Fucking _hell. _

His elbow bumped his empty coffee mug; it rattled sadly on the desk, and Gary watched it warily to make sure it didn’t fall. Something tapped on the window. Gary glanced over, across the rumpled bedsheets, and saw a bird perched on the windowsill. It pecked the slightly grimy window once, twice, before giving up and soaring away in a flurry of feathers. 

Gary’s eyes followed it. His eyes lingered on the crisp linen curtains; it was just past three in the afternoon, and the sunlight made the curtain’s folds glow gold. Gary bit back a chuckle. It had almost been hilarious, how pissed Boyd Mosche had been about those things last night. The man had been suspiciously quiet over the past few hours: no laughter, no swinging by to irritate him, not even any violin from across the hall. 

In fact, the rest of the Lodge had been really quiet. Gary reached for his laptop lid to close it, looking over his shoulder. His door was closed, sure, but even then -

His fingers brushed paper.

Gary blinked, ran his fingers across the top of the screen. His finger caught the edge of an orange sticky note, and he gingerly peeled it off. The sticky note had a faint splatter of coffee on it, and just a few words on it: _Check voicemail daily. _

Gary’s stomach lurched. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. He slammed the laptop shut and dove for the room landline. “Fuck, _shit -” _He’d forgotten the promise he’d made to Haynes yesterday, about checking his voicemail every day. At least he wasn’t at a complete loss; he was a child of the 80s and 90s, after all. He’d seen at least one episode of _Friends. _He knew how to check voicemail from a landline. Gary keyed in his voicemail number, mashed in the pin, and waited.

For a long moment, all he heard was the dial tone’s drone. Then the halting, polite robot voice: _“You have one new message.” _Haynes’ voice poured out of the receiver, sending nauseating prickles up Gary’s neck. God, he couldn’t stand the guy.

_“Gary!” _Yep, great, there it was. The first name. Christ. _“It’s your buddy Haynes. Just checking in and following up with that email I sent you this morning - hope you can get it, all the way out there in the sticks! Get back to me and Connors as soon as you can. Ciao!”_

Gary sat on the edge of the mattress in stunned silence.

_“You have no new messages. Main menu. To listen to old messages, p-”_

_Click. _Gary put the receiver down and stared into space, hand curled limply on the bedside table. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A slow exhale. Haynes was the supervising officer for this particular mission, but Connors… Connors was in charge of the whole UP department. If Connors was getting involved, then this was definitely a big one. He was probably CC’ed on the email, then…

Fuck. Looks like he was going to Snowshoe, after all. Gary clenched his hand into a fist again, drumming his fingers on the desk, and went to pack his things. 

The living room was empty; light filtered down, casting shadows on the scattered newspaper. Gary stood there for a minute, gripping the strap of his messenger laptop bag, and stared around the room. It was suspiciously quiet - especially for a weekend in a building full of people.

Then dishes rattled in the kitchen. “I love it here, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t fucking _stand it,” _a familiar British voice groused. Gary’s eyebrows flew up.

There was a light, aloof sigh. “Sounds like you don’t love it, then,” Indrid said. 

Boyd spluttered for a bit. “I - well - you know what I meant,” he said. “Fuckin’ hell. I just want to get some fresh air, already.”

“You’ve been back in Kepler for a day. Surely you can’t just… take a break?”

“I was limping through the woods in the middle of the night with a bloody nose, mate, real fucking shitty time for sightseeing,” Boyd drawled. Gary bit back a laugh. “And don’t say I brought it upon myself -”

“You _did _bring it upon yourself -”

There was a harsh, barking laugh. “Oh, fuck off! I just -” Boyd’s voice faltered and fell silent. Someone turned on the sink and filled up a glass of water. He spoke again when the faucet was turned off: “I just… wanted to come home, Indrid. Is that such a horrible crime?”

Silence. Glass met tile, and Indrid let out a sigh. “When did yours start coming back?” he said quietly. 

“Same as yours, probably. Trickling back in February, wrapped up in April - first ones ever taken settled in two weeks ago.” The memories. They were talking about memories, taken - it had to be the Ashminder. Something cold and uncomfortable settled in Gary’s stomach; he kept forgetting it had done something to Boyd, too.

“Right. And have you - Boyd, don’t tell me you’ve been planning to break out ever since?”

“No.”

“Really.”

“More like since the start of April.”

“Oh, you waited a whole month and a half? How considerate!” Boyd spluttered indignantly for a bit; Indrid just let out a gentle laugh. “Listen, I completely understand,” he said. His voice had a strange edge to it, and Gary knew, with a soft twinge in his chest, that Indrid really meant it. “You had to get home. You miss this place - it was the first home for you in a long, long time.”

“Course it fucking was, mate!” Boyd’s whisper turned pleading. “And that’s why I want to see it again!”

“But you can’t just go wandering around -”

Boyd groaned loudly. Indrid strolled nonchalantly through the door, sipping from a glass of water. He quickly stood up and slunk out of their lines of sight. “Not you _too,”_ Boyd said. “Fuck’s sake, man -”

“You broke out of jail _yesterday, _Boyd!” Indrid walked into the living room, flopped down on the couch with his water, and grabbed the crossword puzzle. He carefully unfolded it, long fingers fluttering on the paper’s edges. “Literally broke out, if memory serves. If they find you, they’ll throw you back in with a property damage charge on top of… whatever else.”

“This is Kepler!” Gary heard Boyd yell from the kitchen. Indrid glared down the hall. “They won’t notice shit!”

Indrid delicately folded the puzzle section to the sudoku and set it down. He silently grabbed the front page and held it up, showing it to Boyd at the end of the hallway. After a long silence, Boyd said, “Okay. Fair point. But still -”

“There’s no ‘still,’ Boyd,” Indrid said severely. “We can’t - you can’t risk getting caught, especially when your disguise item is finicky -”

“It’s completely fine!” Boyd yelled from the kitchen.

Gary found himself quietly agreeing with Indrid. He silently gathered his things and stood up. Unsurprisingly, Indrid saw him; his head turned slightly, as if he was tracking his movement, and then he looked all the way over his shoulder with eyebrows raised. “Are you going somewhere?”

Gary grimaced and tapped his messenger bag. “Yeah, I’ve got to answer an email,” he said. “Headed to Snowshoe, should be back in 45 or less.”

Indrid’s eyes narrowed. At least, Gary thought they did; it was hard to tell with the glasses. “Hmm,” he said, sipping his water. 

A floorboard creaked, and Boyd shuffled into the living room, arms crossed. He caught a glimpse of Gary and immediately turned away. Indrid and Gary stared at him, eyebrows raised. “Good grief,” Indrid muttered. “If he’s in here any longer, he’ll be tearing down the curtains like an angry cat.”

Boyd spun around, an accusing finger raised. His eyes flashed; it was hard to tell if the shadows under his eyes were from exhaustion, or from bruises. “I’ll have you know, the curtains were his fault,” he said, pointing at Gary. Gary grimaced; there wasn't much he could say to that.

Indrid crossed his legs under him and set his glass on the coffee table. “Tell you what,” he said, eyes fixed on Boyd. “If you want to get out of here so bad, why don’t you go with Stern? He’s headed to Snowshoe for an hour.”

Gary recoiled. Boyd’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “Pardon?” he said.

“You heard me. There are four seats in Stern’s car, you can fit in at least one of them.”

“That’s your solution, then?” Gary said, crossing his arms. “Making me the soccer mom in charge of carpool?”

“A solution’s a solution,” Indrid said wearily, picking up the sudoku. “Who am I to say if it’s a good one?”

Boyd’s mouth was in a sour line. “You can see the bloody future. It’s your job to see good solutions.”

Indrid glanced up at him with a faint smile. “Boyd,” he said, “in the future, I can see Stern buying you coffee. Does that really sound so bad?”

And with that, he clicked his pen and looked down at his sudoku, scribbling in the first number. Gary let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The tension in the air was so thick, it felt like he was drowning in it. Boyd stared at him, eyes flashing; he stared back, his grip tightening on his keys.

“I feel,” Indrid said suddenly, “like I’m standing in between two monster trucks about to collide. Please make up your minds.”

Gary closed his eyes. “If you go,” he said at last, opening them, “will you stay in the car?”

Boyd’s nose wrinkled. “I’d rather stay here than do that.”

“If you go anywhere by yourself, I’m telling Mama,” Indrid said.

“I’ll stay in the car,” Boyd said immediately, marching for the door. He walked stiffly, no doubt still sore from the night before, and flung it open with a flourish. “Lead the way, Agent Cooper.” Gary bit the inside of his cheek and took a deep breath, letting the scent of pine needles and wind-stirred dust fill his lungs. This would be fine. It was fine. Just a temporary solution. It would all be over soon.

Back Mountain Road was a twisty two-lane highway, flanked with close-growing leafy trees and power lines. Some of the hairpin turns were a bit much to handle in the winter, but Gary managed. The drive was beautiful in any weather; the trees arced overhead, forming tunnels of branches, and gaps between them revealed miles of rolling hills. Gary sometimes looked forward to these little drives. They made the agony of checking email and pretending to like his job less overwhelming.

But Boyd’s presence in the car… well. If Gary focused on the road, Boyd didn’t feel quite like an unwelcome presence. He took up so much space; the minute he’d entered the car, he’d tilted his chair back and stretched his legs all the way out, propping his ankle on his thigh. His knee kept bumping into the gearshift. Even though that wouldn’t do anything to the car, Gary still found himself gritting his teeth. 

There was no need to talk, thankfully. Gary glanced at the radio and was tempted to turn it on. But Boyd just stared pensively out the window, watching the trees go past; his fingers drummed on his knee. Gary decided not to turn the radio on. He had a feeling this silence would be very, very rare.

Once they got to the Starbucks, Gary grabbed a parking spot next to the window, where he'd be able to see the car from inside. “Stay here,” he said to Boyd. Boyd resolutely stared out the window, exaggeratedly twiddling his thumbs. Gary sighed and grabbed his laptop bag from behind the passenger seat. The back of Boyd’s chair had crushed it between the rows of seats.

“Are you going to grab something while you’re in?”

Gary tugged the bag loose with a grunt. “Probably not,” he said, getting out. “Barclay hasn’t paid me back yet for yesterday’s run.”

“You should get me something,” Boyd said, idly scratching his jaw. “It’s been a bit, I need a pick-me-up -”

Gary closed the door a bit harder than was necessary. Boyd stared at him. Gary didn’t look back as he went in and grabbed a seat, but he could feel Boyd glaring at him through the window. He settled down and unpacked his laptop, twisting his wrists and wincing as they popped. Already, he was starting to feel at ease; the warm lighting and soft background noise was comforting, and it reminded him of the small coffee shop near his D.C. apartment.

He faltered as he opened the laptop. That apartment… he hadn’t been back in it since last October, when the FBI had sent him here. It was barely a foggy memory; he could picture his room back at the Lodge much more clearly than that little one-bedroom. He stared at his reflection in his screen, a lump swelling in his throat.

Movement flickered over the top of the screen. Gary’s eyes darted up. He met Boyd’s stare, which was incredibly sheepish; from here, he could see that Boyd’s hand was on the door handle. So… planning to do a runner, after all. Gary glared at Boyd until he let go of the door handle, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Good thing Gary grabbed the window seat.

Thankfully. it didn’t take long for the laptop to wake up. Gary quickly opened his email and refreshed the inbox, fingers drumming anxiously on the tabletop. When the email from Haynes loaded, his stomach practically dropped into the floor. The subject line just said:

**FW: FYI.**

So it wasn't even an email for him - just a short email chain between Haynes and Connors, forwarded to him by Haynes. Gary cautiously opened it and skimmed the contents. The short bureaucratic sentences made his skin crawl, and every word made his stomach lurch with panic. Gary slowly lowered his head into his hands.

_...Insufficient evidence.... Lack of direction.... Infrequent correspondence leads us to... advise recall within one month._

One month. Connors and Haynes were giving him one month to turn up evidence for that bogus Bigfoot case. And then he was on orders to leave Kepler. For good.

No. No, no, no. This was… Gary took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He had to focus in. It was understandable procedure, one that had been pulled on other agents countless times. If the investigation was going to be a dead end, UP didn’t want to stretch their already-limited budget any further than necessary. 

The thing was, though… this _wasn’t _a dead end. There was something here that UP would be interested in. Gary had his finger on the pulse, he knew - there was no denying it. They would rely on him to figure out their next moves. He was the only thing realistically standing between his department and the rest of Amnesty Lodge, and even Sylvain - and that hung over his head like an anvil every single day. 

There had to be a solution for this. There just had to. 

With a heavy heart, Gary pulled up the rough draft of his report - all the fake data points he’d brainstormed, all the lies - and started drafting an email. He’d lobby for two months instead of one. One and a half, at the minimum. There had to be a way to stay.

A few fruitless minutes later, Gary caught a flurry of motion in the corner of his eye and glanced up. His eyes landed on his car; he groaned. Boyd had put his feet on the dashboard, and he stared pensively out the passenger window, not meeting Gary’s eyes. He could tell Boyd was scanning the parking lot, and waited until their eyes met to frown at him.

Boyd raised one eyebrow. His strange blue eyes gleamed. A silent challenge.

Gary's mouth twisted, and he pulled up a blank PowerPoint, turning the brightness all the way up. He typed, **GET YOUR FEET OFF THE DASHBOARD** in huge letters and whirled it around.

Boyd's eyebrows went up a little more. He mouthed something - probably "What?" or "Sorry?"

Gary turned the computer around, fully intending to write **YOU HEARD ME** on a new slide - until he saw the screen. "Fucking hell," he muttered, cheeks burning. The text box had cut off the last few words; all it said was **GET YOUR FEET OFF.** He fixed the slide to say **THE DASHBOARD** and turned the laptop around.

Boyd just stared at the computer for a long, long moment. Then he slowly lowered his feet. Just as Gary was about to mentally celebrate, he leaned forward, eyes still fixed on Gary's, and opened the glove compartment. Gary's stomach thudded into the floor. He didn't have anything proprietary in there, but still - it was procedure, it was security, he should have kept it locked -

Boyd pulled out a napkin and a pen and scrawled something, going over the letters multiple times. He pressed the napkin to the windshield; Gary's eyebrows flew up.

**MAKE ME.**

As Gary stared, Boyd scrunched up the napkin and tossed it into the back, smugly putting his feet on the dashboard again. He smirked at Gary over the top of his boots, and that smug look made something ripple through Gary’s chest. Not quite nauseating - he knew the difference; the leftover gut-punch of anxiety brought on by Haynes’ and Connors’ email was still too close. It may have been anger.

Gary was used to working with dangerous people. It came with being an FBI agent; it wasn’t always easy to tell who had that undercurrent of danger, running through them, but with some people it was clear to see. Most people in the Pine Guard were like that. Boyd’s was barely visible - but by now, Gary thought he knew what to look for. There was a thread of danger under everything he did; he always seemed poised and coiled, like a cat about to pounce, but the few soft edges he had made it hard to see his danger. Like with Duck, or even Aubrey. 

He was reckless. That was it; he seemed calm and collected, quintessentially British, but seemed to have the impulsive heart of a frat boy. Perhaps Gary was reading him wrong; maybe there was something he was missing. But the man had been reckless enough to get caught and put in jail; he might be reckless enough to get the Lodge in trouble. He was already pushing it by being out and about.

If there was any reason to stay, other than the FBI, it was this man. He had to do something to keep him in line - or at least help the Lodge do it. 

The smug look on Boyd's face faltered; his eyes drifted, and Gary saw him look faintly disgusted. A hand delicately tapped Gary's left shoulder; a chair was pulled out to his right. "Agent Stern," said an unctuous voice, and Gary bit back a curse. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

Gary sighed harshly and glanced over both shoulders. He held back the urge to slam his head into the table. Muffy and Winthrop - Kepler's resident ski bunnies, who had grown into the town the way lichen grows on a rock, according to Mama - were bracketing him like bookends. He'd dealt with these two idiots before. The two of them always seemed suspicious, too out-of-place for this small town. 

And recently, a bunch of their friends had been staying with them on Resort Row, making a right mess of the place. Duck and Mama were pissed at them, and for good reason. They kept sneering at the town's humble buildings, going off-trail when hiking, leaving their garbage everywhere. One of them had even tried to skinny dip in Amnesty Lodge's hot springs without asking or renting a room - though that might have been for the best.

Not the best crowd. Not the best at all. Gary gave them uncomfortable smiles. "Muffy," he said politely. "Winthrop. It's... nice to see you."

Muffy's hand dug into his shoulder, her nails uncomfortably sharp. The two of them had wide, friendly smiles on their faces; he felt like he'd been cornered by a bunch of evangelicals at a train station. "Pleasure's all ours, Mr. Stern," she said loftily. Winthrop scooted his chair closer to the table; the legs screeched. Gary quickly closed his laptop screen. "We - my honey and I - we've been in a bit of a pickle, shall we say."

"Yes, it's not ideal," Winthrop said. His stuffy voice made Gary want to gag. "We've noticed you've been rather close with the... Lodge folk, of late. Would you say that's true?"

"I mean -" Gary cleared his throat. "It's not inaccurate," he said cautiously. "Why do you ask? Need recommendations for rooms? They've got -"

Muffy's smile turned slightly frosty. "Not the point, Mr. Stern. We're curious about one of your fellow compatriots there."

"A resident?"

"An acquaintance."

"Duck Newton, to be precise," Winthrop said.

Gary felt like he'd bitten into a lemon. He schooled his face into something he hoped was neutral. Winthrop went on, "We're wondering if you've noticed anything... _odd_ about Duck Newton and his activities." He leaned closer, the chair squeaking horribly under him. Gary caught a whiff of awful cologne. "You're a man of the law, from the looks of it, eh?"

_Allegedly._ "Yes," Gary said.

"You've been observing the Lodge," Winthrop said. "Duck Newton is a frequent connoisseur of that place. We have a few... suspicions about the man and what he's been up to." His eyes took on a dangerous glint - something almost panicked. Hungry. "Would you, perhaps, know anything relevant?"

Gary drummed his fingers on the table, looking pensively at a stain on its surface. Every single alarm bell in his head was going off. When these people, specifically, were asking about his friend and the Lodge? Suspicious at the very least. Duck must have gotten himself into something bad. Muffy's hand was still clamped on his shoulder; he shifted around, but she did not let go. 

At last, he looked up at Winthrop and said, "Frankly, no."

Winthrop's eyebrows flew up. The two of them looked incredibly disappointed. Gary didn't know what they were expecting; it wasn't as if he could say, _Yeah, Duck has a talking sword, can bench press a truck if he tries, and is in a relationship with the Mothman_ to these two. 

"Are you sure?" Muffy said. "Are you _positive?"_

"No, no - everything seems very calm." He added, voice sober, "If you're looking for something on him, you've got the wrong guy." Something strange and sharp flashed in Winthrop's eyes, like a trapped animal. Good. Gary wanted to know the man he was onto him.

Then lights flashed through the window. Gary whipped around and squinted through his fingers at his car. Boyd had leaned over to the driver's side and was flicking the brights on and off, eyes fixed on him. “What the fuck?” he mouthed. 

“Who on Earth is that?” Muffy said, scandalized.

Gary stared at Boyd, shaking his head. Boyd held up a finger and went back to the glove compartment, pulling out the napkin and the pen again. "We're carpooling," Gary said faintly. "I - uh."

Boyd scribbled on the napkin. **AMERICANO?**

Gary just looked at him. 

Boyd let out a deep, exaggerated sigh and grabbed another napkin. **PLEASE??**

"Seems like he wants a coffee," Winthrop said, leaning back in his chair. It screeched again, and both Gary and Muffy glared at him. "It'd be awfully rude to leave him out in the cold."

"Better do it before he starts pouting," Muffy said. "Goodness knows that's so difficult to ignore."

Gary resisted the urge to gag. He opened his laptop, pulled up his PowerPoint again and cleared the slides, trying to ignore how Winthrop was looking over his shoulder. **SIZE?**

Boyd grabbed another napkin. Christ, how many were in that glovebox? **LARGE. 3 SUGARS**

He didn't want to admit it, but Gary thought that Boyd looked like he needed that coffee - even though it had only been five or six hours since this morning's incident. His face looked haggard and weary; he was slumped over the dashboard. The light caught his eyes strangely, and with a strange tightening in his chest and a prickle up his spine, Gary remembered that Boyd was a Sylph. He'd been hit by the power outage, too. 

"Who on Earth is he, anyway?" Muffy said. "Good gracious, those tattoos... He looks like - like some kind of _felon,_ who just got out of a bar fight."

"He gets that a lot," Gary said.

"Yes, appearances aren't everything," Winthrop said airily. "The tattoos determine nothing. Why, Muffy dear, I recall you've got one on your -"

"Alright, nice talk," Gary said abruptly, shutting his laptop and putting it in his bag. "I’m done here." He slid out of his chair, finally shaking off Muffy's hand, and went for the counter.

It was ridiculous, how relieving it was to get out of that Starbucks. Muffy and Winthrop moved to a corner table while Gary was getting Boyd's drink; their heads were bowed together, in the least inconspicuous way possible. Gary sped out of there in case they started canoodling, fishing around in his pocket for his keys.

Boyd had returned to lounging in his seat, his arm slung around the back of Gary's. "So," he said, as Gary opened the door. "I was a good boy after all, eh?"

"Don't push your luck, Mr. Mosche," Gary said flatly, putting the drink in the center console. Boyd glared at him, grabbing it with both hands. Gary tossed his laptop bag in the back, glaring at the scrunched-up napkins in the back seat, and started the car. 

The drive back to the Lodge was just as tense as the one on the way out. They hadn't been in Snowshoe for as long as Gary thought they would be; it was barely half past three, and the residents of Kepler were still making the most of their Sunday afternoon. Gary took his time on Main Street, waiting for five or six Hornets to leave the parking lot of Leo's store. Someone - probably Keith, or maybe his friend Cam - had cloth bags full of energy drinks hanging from the handlebars of their bike.

Boyd slowly lowered his drink and leaned forward, squinting at the small caravan. Gary glanced over at him; from this angle, he could see the bruise on Boyd's jaw in lurid detail. Jeez, it looked even more painful close up. "Stunt bikes?" he said, dumbfounded. "They've got stunt biking now? Jesus, what has Kepler been up to, these days? Didn't know the cops allowed this."

The last person out of the lot stopped just before turning and waved them through. Gary recognized the braided-back mohawk and the pins on the jacket. He waved thankfully at Hollis and kept going on Main Street. "Just barely," he said grimly. Boyd raised an eyebrow. "They've run into some trouble over the years, apparently, but... yeah, I really don't know. I haven't been here very long."

"Mm. It shows," Boyd commented, sipping from his coffee. Gary's grip tightened on the wheel. The Hornets revved their engines and zipped out of the parking lot, grocery bags swaying haphazardly as they went. "Might have to look into what they're up to. Looks great."

"I thought you weren't allowed to go anywhere without an escort, Mr. Mosche."

Boyd was silent; a muscle twitched in his jaw. His eyes were fixed on the side mirror. Gary glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Hollis following them, helmet on and their visor down. The spikes on their jacket gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. As Gary turned onto the road leading to Amnesty Lodge, going up the hill, Hollis and their bike disappeared from sight.

Boyd stared at the mirror long after Hollis had gone out of sight. Gary opened his mouth, paused, and closed it. After a while, he said, "Do you - know them?"

Boyd swallowed. "No," he said uneasily. "But they looked... familiar." He grimaced and settled back into his seat, gripping his coffee cup with both hands. Gary glanced between him and the road, but Boyd didn't have anything else to say. The car settled into an uneasy silence.

As they bumped up the dirt road, though, Gary saw clouds of dust hanging in the air - as if someone had just come up the road before them. Taillights flashed between the trees. Gary's eyebrows went up as they rounded the corner; Duck's forest service truck was pulling into a parking space. Gary slammed on the brakes as the driver's side door burst open, and Duck practically leapt out. "Hey, Stern!" he shouted.

Gary held up a finger and pulled into a parking space; Boyd hissed as hot coffee splashed onto his hand. "Sorry," he said hastily, turning off the car and getting out. "What is it, Duck?"

Duck's sister made a beeline for the Lodge's front door. "I'll ask Evie," she called over her shoulder. Duck gave her a thumbs up, and she vanished.

"What's going on?" Gary said.

Duck took a deep breath. "I fuckin' - Gary, did we ever tell you about Heathcliff's bounties?"

"Who's whats?"

"Guess that's a no, alrighty then," Duck said in a rush. He sighed harshly, running a hand through his hair. "Heathcliff's a giant talkin' magic cat that lives in Sylvain, and sometimes he asks us to bring him shit. 'N then he'll enchant somethin' for us in return. Sometimes. Well."

He held up a slightly soggy piece of parchment; Gary looked at it but couldn't make out any of the writing. "He's askin' for somethin' I don't think any of us are able to give," he said. There was a faint note of panic in his voice, and that made Gary's stomach lurch. "We don't - hey, fuck, there he is. Boyd! C'mere."

Boots crunched on the parking lot's asphalt. "Hmm?" Boyd said, the sound clearly muffled by his cup of coffee.

Duck waved him over. "Is your crystal on a silver chain?" he demanded.

Boyd just shook his head, holding up his wrist. That leather snap bracelet - with a small metal charm for the New Jersey Devils hockey team, Gary noticed - was still tied tightly around his wrist. It almost completely obscured that seven-sided tattoo. The shard of Sylvan crystal - rough-hewn and chipped - clanked against the charm. "Nope," he said. " 'S on leather, mate."

"Okay. Okay. Good. Okay." Duck did not look okay. He took a deep breath, hands pressed together in front of his face. "Boyd, d'you know anyone who might have had a necklace from Sylvain, here?"

Boyd's face closed off completely. The look in his eyes made Gary feel strangely hollow. "Nobody who's alive right now," he said quietly. Duck grimaced, looking away. "Why? Is Heathcliff asking one of us to give our crystal up? Why the fuck would he do that?"

"We're not sure what he wants, exactly, I just opened the fuckin' thing," Duck said. "But those are the only types of necklaces I can imagine that fit the bill."

"Well, have you fucking asked him?" Boyd said incredulously. "Cat's about as clear as piss, can't get anything straight out of him."

"As piss?" Gary muttered. "Sounds like you've got to see a doctor." Boyd choked on his laughter - and then stared at Gary, astonished. As if he hadn't meant to laugh at all.

Duck closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No," he said, "we haven't talked to him. We haven't had the chance to. But we've got to find this thing. It's - we just -" He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “Heathcliff’s up to something,” he said grimly. “He’s been real fuckin’ shady lately. He said in his note that he didn’t want anyone on his side of things to know what he’s up to, and I just…” He threw his hands up. “I’m at a loss. I don’t fuckin’ know what to do.”

Boyd's eyebrows drew together in a sympathetic line, and he put a hand on Duck's shoulder. "Hey, mate, listen," he said, voice surprisingly gentle. "We'll figure this out. Believe you me, nobody who's here with a crystal wants to give it up. If that's what Heathcliff wants out of us, we'll fight it every step of the way."

Duck tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Yeah. Okay, okay." He sighed and looked past Boyd into the Lodge. "We've just gotta find something that fits the bill. Heathcliff wouldn't have given it to us if he didn't think we'd be able to hunt it down."

"So you think it's in Kepler?" 

"At the Lodge, at the very least," Duck said hesitantly. He hung his head. "Man, I don't fuckin' know. We don't have a lot of options, but... we'll have to use up whatever options we've got."

"We'll help you look," Gary offered. He closed his car door; the sound echoed like a muffled gunshot across the parking lot. "We'll figure something out." Duck gave them a grateful nod and gripped the bounty letter tighter, practically sprinting into the Lodge.

Gary was about to follow him but did not hear footsteps following behind him. He turned, one foot through the door. His eyes landed on Boyd's back; he stood there next to the trunk of Gary's car, staring out over the parking lot of Amnesty Lodge. His hand was lifted slightly, so the shard of crystal on his bracelet rested in his palm.

A breeze kicked up, sending pine needles skittering across the parking lot. "Mr. Mosche?" Gary said.

Boyd glanced slightly over his shoulder. Gary said nothing - just waited for him to turn all the way around. He had a scar through his right eyebrow that Gary had never really seen before. Gary tilted his head into the Lodge; Boyd visibly gritted his teeth, gripping the crystal in his hand, and reluctantly followed him through the door.

* * *

“Hammer.”

Aubrey passed it to Mama. It was a heavy clawed thing, with a smooth wooden handle and a face worn down to the color of new aluminum foil. Mama shoved her desk chair aside and knelt on the floor behind her desk. She whacked her elbow on the side. “Yeowch, fuck - mind movin’ the chair for me, just a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” Aubrey said quickly. She tugged it to the other side of the desk. Mama lifted the rug and ran her hand over the floorboards, counting them; she cursed softly and pulled out a splinter. “You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Mama said. She counted the floorboards again and jammed the hammer’s claw between the third and fourth, from the back of the desk. Aubrey winced as Mama pried up the floorboard; the wood’s dry groan made the back of her neck crawl. Mama worked in silence, carefully working the claw down the length of the floorboard, until she could pull the whole thing up and away.

Aubrey craned her neck and peered into the space under the board. There was a tangle of carved, varnished wood, wrapped in dusty velvet and covered in cobwebs. From this angle, it was tough to make out the shape - but Aubrey thought she saw the branches of a tree.

“Here. Put this on the desk?”

Aubrey jumped. Mama was holding the short board towards her. “Sure, gotcha,” she said, taking the board. Mama pushed the strange sculpture aside and reached further. She pulled out a wooden box the length of her forearm: unvarnished but beautifully carved, with no visible lid or hinges. It looked almost like a miniature coffin. As she struggled to her feet and put the box on her desk, the rug curled back into place, flopping against Aubrey’s calf like an affectionate cat. “What’s that?” she said tentatively.

Mama did not answer; the lines of her face deepened, somehow, into something tense and almost grieving. Aubrey fell silent. She watched as Mama did something to the box that made the entire top swivel and slide back. Inside the box were several cloth bags, made from scraps of fabric. Aubrey saw the gauzy fabric of a scarf, faded plaid flannel, a square cut from someone’s jeans, even what looked like an entire hand-knitted beanie, scrunched up and tied with twine.

Mama’s fingers hesitated on the box’s lid, as if she wanted to shut it again. She closed her eyes. “Damn it.”

“What?”

Mama dragged the desk chair back over, dodging the places where the rug scrunched up, and sank down into it. She laced her fingers together and rested her forehead on them, eyes closed. Aubrey held the board tighter. “You didn’t hear it from me,” Mama said softly, “but I really don’t want to do this.”

Aubrey watched, perplexed, as Mama started pulling out bags and gently untying them. She held each reverently - weighing them in her hand, fingers cupped gingerly around them, as if she was afraid of holding onto them too tightly. When the string came off the first bag - a satchel made from a tied bandana - Aubrey’s mouth fell open. “What -”

A necklace sat in Mama’s palm; it was faded, translucent, its sides faceted and polished to perfection. Aubrey couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. It looked exactly like Barclay’s and Indrid’s, except it hung from a gold chain. 

“Mama?”

She said nothing - just carefully rewrapped the necklace and set it aside. Aubrey watched as she went through each of the small bags. There were about thirty necklaces in all; only three of them had silver chains, which Mama reluctantly put in their own pile. Each necklace had a crystal hanging from it, the beveled edges carved with care. Some crystals had a gleam of orange light down in the center; instead of a soft, warm glow, like looking at a fireplace’s flicker on an opposite wall, these were mere sparks, like fireflies in a jar.

Mama gently closed the box, leaving the last three satchels on the desk. One was soft, silken cloth like the lining of a jacket; another was that beanie Aubrey had seen; and the last was a strange mesh fabric, like it had been cut from a sports jersey.

“This is real shitty,” Mama said heavily. “Heathcliff didn’t give us much to work with, which is… pretty damn typical, so I can’t be too surprised. But it’s soundin’ like he wants someone’s Sylvan crystal back.”

“D’you know why?” 

“I don’t have the foggiest idea,” Mama said. She rubbed her eyes, looking down at the small pile. “He ain’t got any use for them,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Not a damn thing.”

The shadows under her eyes seemed to grow deeper. Aubrey said tentatively, “Well, hopefully we won’t have to give these up. They seem real important to you.”

Mama took a deep breath and slowly let it out, her shoulders slumping. “Yeah,” she said. “These are…” She rested her hand on the box. “These belonged to folks who lived here. Before they died.”

Aubrey’s heart dropped down into her stomach. “Oh,” she said faintly. “That’s - holy shit.”

Mama nodded tersely. “We buried them in the woods out back, and kept their necklaces here, in case they got dug up and the FBI came sniffin’ around. Most of ‘em died to…” She faltered. “The Ashminder.”

“Oh.”

“But a few got got after the gate opened.” Mama pulled open one of the bags again and pulled out the necklace, rolling the chunk of crystal between her fingers. It caught the light and reflected it into Aubrey’s eyes; she winced. “We’ve been runnin’ this place since the 60s, at least,” Mama said softly. “I’ve been there since the start. I’m a lot older than I look. And don’t you go sayin’ I don’t look a day over forty,” she said, almost startling a laugh out of Aubrey. “My driver’s license says I’m at least sixty.”

Mama let out a dry chuckle; something about it sounded hollow. Aubrey watched the mirth fade from her eyes, and something tightened in her chest. “I’m dodgin’ the point, I’m sorry. A whole lotta people came to Earth, back in the day.” She paused, and grimaced. “Well - not _my _day. Way, way before me. The gate’s been all over the damn place, and folks’ve been leavin’ Sylvain to come here ever since it opened.” 

Aubrey sat down on the edge of Mama’s desk. “Like - without being exiled?”

“Folks didn’t start getting exiled until the 1930s,” Mama said. “‘Fore that, you could leave as long as you had permission from the Council. That’s why Indrid came over - he was lookin’ for answers, the Council gave him a crystal, and then he ollied out for good.” 

She scratched her chin, still looking at the crystal in her palm. Her voice had taken on a gentle, almost recitative tone, like she was reading from a textbook. It reminded Aubrey of Janelle. “And before that… Sylvans came over in waves. Like Barclay’s family. Gosh, they’d been tricklin’ over to our side for one, two thousand years. Used to be hundreds of ‘em, and they all got crystals back in the day.” Mama grimaced. “Now, there’s just Barclay - that we know of.”

Aubrey swallowed. “Is that one of theirs?” she said, pointing at the necklace in Mama’s hand.

Mama’s hand tightened around it. “Yes,” she said. “Yeah, it was… one of his cousin’s, I think. Got taken out in ‘98.” She carefully rewrapped it. “See, this is why I don’t wanna jump to Duck’s conclusion right away,” she sighed. “I get he’s worried. Indrid’s got a necklace on a silver chain, ‘n we don’t know how it’ll affect him if it gets taken away. But - fuckin’ hell, Barclay’ll never forgive me if we have to give any of these up.”

“Even if it’s not his family member’s necklace?”

And Mama looked up at her, eyes somber and grim. “If you wanna get technical,” she said, “all of these are family members’ necklaces.” 

Aubrey winced. Something in her chest was crumpling. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right about that.” 

The makeshift bag went back in the pile. Mama folded her hands together under her chin again - tightly, as if she was trying to keep herself from grabbing the bags. “Do you have any other ideas?” she said, glancing up at Aubrey. “You got fresher brain cells, maybe you’ve got an angle I can’t see just yet.”

Aubrey took a deep breath, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “I… don’t really know,” she said, feeling the words stick in her throat. She coughed. “Uh - honestly? I still think we should talk to Heathcliff.”

Mama raised an eyebrow.

“Like - he was really vague, vaguer than usual, and if we had more details that’d make this easier. If he gave it to us, then I assume he’d be confident that we could find it, y’know?”

“That’s true,” Mama mused. “We never got a straight answer outta him…” Her eyes darkened. She reached for the box again, pushing her desk chair back; it caught on the wrinkled rug, and she cursed softly. “I just don’t want to jump to any conclusions,” she said, holding the box in her lap - cradling it, almost. “There’s gotta be another way.”

Aubrey fiddled with a sheet of paper on Mama’s desk, idly folding the corner over. Mama rolled her chair back and knelt on the floor, putting the box back in its hiding spot. “Here, Aubrey,” she said. “I can handle it from here. Why don’t you go take a break, grab something to eat?”

“You’re sure?” 

“Yeah. There’s not much I need your help with right now, I don’t think…” Aubrey hopped off Mama’s desk. Just as she was about to leave, Mama added, “Oh, one thing - pass me the board and the hammer, will ya?” Aubrey laughed softly and grabbed the board again, ignoring the way the splinters gnawed at her fingers. Mama grabbed a couple of rags from a desk drawer and put them over the board; the muffled _thunk _of the hammer followed Aubrey down the hall as she left. 

Every step she took was deafening in the near-silent hallway. It weighed on her. Everyone was either out on the town for the afternoon, in the hot springs, or napping; a few people - like Indrid and Vanessa, and Duck with them - were turning the Lodge upside down, looking for something that matched the bounty request. She got to her and Dani’s room; her hand hesitated on the doorknob. 

_Crystal fire. Silver chain._

A nauseous shiver went through her; Aubrey grimaced, resisting the urge to bite her lip, and pushed open the door. 

The curtains were half-closed; the sun’s mid-afternoon light played lazily on piles of clothes, discarded shoes, a few books and magazines. Aubrey saw Dani’s legs before she saw the rest of her; she sat on the floor against the mattress, with a worn-out book in her hands and a pen in the other. A notebook sat in her lap. The page she was on was covered in handwriting, slanting, scrawled - as if she’d looked away while writing and let her hand wander.

Aubrey quietly shut the door behind her. When the latch clicked, Dani looked over her shoulder, startled; sunlight from the window across the room caught in her hair, outlining her in gold. “Hey,” Dani said softly. “You good?”

Aubrey opened her mouth, paused, and closed it. She swallowed. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

Dani scooted over, leaving an empty space of floor next to her. Her eyes were wide and warm, lips curled in a gentle smile. “C’mere,” she said, reaching up. Aubrey silently took her hand, and she tugged Aubrey down onto the floor. Aubrey felt as if her chest had caved in; something like a sob curled in her lungs. She tucked herself against Dani’s side, closing her eyes as Dani’s arms looped around her. 

For a long, long while, neither of them spoke. Aubrey leaned even more into Dani; a small, frightened part of herself wanted to climb into her lap, but she didn’t want to knock the notebook away. She settled for wrapping her arms around Dani’s stomach and hugging her even tighter. Her eyes darted around the room. “Where’s Dr. Bonkers?” she asked quietly. His usual favorite spot - a stretch of floor between Dani’s nightstand and her desk - was empty. 

“Across the hall,” Dani said. “He went all ‘free real estate’ on Jane’s suitcase, I think he’s makin’ another little nest for himself over there.”

Aubrey laughed softly. “Good to know,” she said quietly. 

Dani reassuringly rubbed her arm; her thumb swept back and forth, tracing the top of her shoulder. “Really, though, babe,” she said. “Are you - are you gonna be okay, or do you just need a minute?”

The gentle warmth of her voice made Aubrey’s heart melt even more; her eyes stung. She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I don’t know. I’m just feeling… weird today.” Dani said nothing - just kept moving her thumb. It was all Aubrey could focus on. “The - the bounty.”

“Mm?”

“It… fuck.” Aubrey sat up straighter, scrubbing at her eye. “Everyone’s looking for a necklace, y’know?” she said. “That’s the closest any of us could get to figuring out what the fuck Heathcliff meant, was ‘necklace with an orange pendant’ or some shit like that.” She sighed sharply. “And… my mom, she - she had a necklace just like that.”

Dani’s face crumpled a bit. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” Aubrey slumped into Dani’s side again, staring across the room at the window. The faintest of breezes blew, making the shadows of leaves twitch on the curtain. “This… beautiful silver thing, with a fire opal in the pendant. We never found it,” she whispered. “It probably got burnt up in the fire or some shit, I don’t know, but… I was supposed to get it. On my eighteenth birthday.”

She could feel her throat closing up with tears. Dani held her closer, resting her chin on top of Aubrey’s head. She closed her eyes. “And now, everyone’s looking for a necklace all over again,” she choked out. “It’s just - fuck. Just keeps reminding me.”

Fingers laced through her hand. Aubrey’s eyes flew open; Dani had taken her hand and placed it in her lap. Her thumb ran gently over Aubrey’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

Aubrey squeezed her hand. “It’s okay,” she whispered, even though it very much wasn’t. “I - it’s been five years. I just think about it a lot.”

Dani said nothing for almost a minute - just held Aubrey’s hand in silence. At last, she said tentatively, “I - think about it too, sometimes.”

Aubrey glanced up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I…” Dani sighed; her grip on Aubrey’s hand got tighter. “I know what you mean, that’s all,” she said. “Thinking ‘bout what happened in the past. What went wrong.” She looked at the notebook in her lap; Aubrey followed her gaze, picking out the bits of Dani’s handwriting she could read. She realized with a start that it was a letter - a letter to Fabian, telling him about a book Dani had spent a month reading. 

“After Evelyn - disappeared, it was tough,” Dani said haltingly.

Aubrey squeezed her hand.

“There’s a lot of kids in Kepler,” Dani said, with a faint laugh. “Lot of siblings. There’s the Owens kids, there’s Hollis and Pigeon. Duck and Jane, though they didn’t really count for this. It was - well, it’s obviously real different, not the same situation at all, but -” Dani sighed sharply, looking down at the notebook. “When Evelyn went missing, and I would see the kids playing in the streets… when I saw Pigeon helping Hollis with their math homework, or Keith draggin’ Fred and Calvin up the hill on a sled, I just -”

She faltered. “It never got easier, I don’t think,” she said. Her voice cracked. “I just kept thinkin’ of Fabian and Evelyn, and everyone else. And it hurt. It hurt so, so bad.” 

“Yeah,” Aubrey said softly. 

“So I - I get what you mean, about being reminded,” Dani said. She let go of Aubrey’s hand and hugged her again. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s okay.” Aubrey hugged Dani back, burying her face in Dani’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Dani kissed the top of her head and held her close, not saying a word. 

They sat there in weary silence for a while longer, just holding each other. The afternoon turned a bit more golden, as the sun began to set. Aubrey’s butt started to hurt from sitting on the floor so long, and she shifted a bit in Dani’s arms. “Mind if I lie down on the bed?” she said.

“Yeah, no, go ahead,” Dani said. She took a long time to let go; half-standing, Aubrey bent down again to press a kiss to her temple. Dani laughed and cupped the back of Aubrey’s head, pulling her down to kiss her. Aubrey squeaked. “You wanna take a nap?” Dani whispered, their lips brushing.

Aubrey hummed softly. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” she said softly. She rested her forehead on Dani’s a moment longer. “You wanna join me?”

“In a bit, I want to finish this letter for Fabian.” Dani kissed her again and patted the side of her neck, grabbing her pen. Aubrey let her fingers trail through Dani’s hair and curled up on the bed. The soft sound of Dani’s pen scribbling on paper lulled her, and her eyes drifted closed before she even knew it.

She woke a couple of hours later with a stale taste in her mouth. Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut until she saw colors swirling, like the surface of a bubble, and opened them again; the clock on the nightstand said it was a little past six. The weariness in her bones had barely left her.

Dani was nowhere to be seen; the door was closed, the lights off. The air vibrated strangely, as if she was standing next to a tree that had just been struck with lightning. Dani’s letter to Fabian was in an envelope on the desk, a pale shadow like a fallen feather. 

The doorknob rattled - and then a voice. “Hang on, Dan - you got a minute?”

Evelyn’s voice made Aubrey’s eyes fly open. “Yeah? What’s up?” Dani said. Aubrey listened to the soft echoes of her voice, hugging the pillow close.

“D’you know if we’ve checked with Barclay or Leo yet?”

“What?”

“About the necklace.” Evelyn’s voice was calm, thoughtful, like she was explaining a difficult question on a test. “Barclay’s been a lot of places - plus he has a Sylvan necklace anyway, and I can’t remember if it’s on a silver chain, so it’s worth checking anyway. And Leo ran with so many folks in New York who left with a crystal, and they were in _tight _together_. _Do you think they might know?”

A shadow moved away from the door. “It’s always possible,” Dani said, voice distant. “I don’t think we’ve checked on ‘em. I can give Barclay and Ned a call, I dunno if they want to come over here right now, but…”

“Yeah, no, I can do that,” Evelyn said. “If you’ve got another minute, I think… Jake’s havin’ a bit of a rough time right now, and I…”

Dani hissed sympathetically. “Ooh, no, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he just seems like he’s down in the dumps right now.” Evelyn cleared her throat awkwardly. “I - I’m not entirely sure what’s up, but he might need you. You could help him out better than I can.”

“Evie -”

“No, don’t give me that,” Evelyn sighed. “You’ve been here longer, you’ve known him two decades longer. If anyone knows how to make him feel better, it’s you.” 

Dani muttered something, and Evelyn laughed gently, the sound distant; Aubrey heard the floorboards creak as they walked away.

Aubrey sighed and buried her face in Dani’s pillow. So nothing had changed since she closed her eyes. Just the angle of the sun. The Lodge still felt the same, with that current of uncertainty that made the air sharp with panic. They were still looking for the fucking necklace, huh? Her chest tightened. She couldn’t help but think it was almost useless; they didn’t know the full story, they didn’t know what Heathcliff wanted from them, they didn’t even know what was happening in Sylvain in the first place…

Dani’s envelope burned into her eyes. She couldn’t look away. Aubrey rolled out of bed, eyes fixed on it. Her fingers itched to pick it up - and a memory of a feeling passed through her, prickling her hand like she’d grabbed a too-hot cup of cocoa. 

Before they’d left, when she’d stuck her hand through the gate… it had gone through. Her hand had vanished into the gap, as if it had passed over a green screen curtain. She’d felt the cold itch of Sylvain’s winds on her fingers; her hand came back smelling like burnt things and iron.

An excited thrill went through her. Aubrey set her jaw and threw off the covers, tugging her boots on. She snatched up Dani’s letter on the way out of her room. Legs still wobbly from her nap, she staggered across the hall to Jane and Evelyn’s room. The door was wide open, and the room was empty, save for Dr. Harris Bonkers, curled up in Jane’s empty suitcase. Evelyn’s letter was on the nightstand; Aubrey snatched it up too and went for the door, scratching Dr. Harris Bonkers’ ears on the way out.

There were always possibilities - no matter how nebulous, no matter how grim, there were possibilities. She’d see how this would go. And if it worked... well, it wouldn’t hurt to drop off a few messages on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ fate, i just want to be hugged like aubrey gets hugged by dani, is that too much to ask
> 
> \- Connors is a reference to Sheriff Connors from TAZ Dust.  
\- For all you zoomers out there (don't come at me, i'm a zoomer too), Boyd's newest nickname for Stern - "Agent Cooper" - is a reference to _Twin Peaks_; the FBI agent who comes to the town, helping the local police investigate a murder, is named Dale Cooper.  
\- **THE STERN NICKNAME LIST:**  
_Serious_  
_Mulder_  
_Cooper_  
_J_
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient! Finals and the holidays slammed me hard, especially with all the projects and revisions I had to do. Thankfully, I pulled through the end of the semester alright, and I hope you've all made it through too. The songs for this chapter really reflect that; I was super stressed for most of the month, and listened to a lot of chill atmospheric stuff to maintain my sanity. I had a lot of fun with this chapter, though; despite the plot picking up, I felt it was time for a bit of self-indulgence. 
> 
> As always, thank you for sticking around to read this chapter! Let me know what y'all think! Next on TCOS: Aubrey has a plan, Indrid has a sword, Ned has to stand up for himself, and Minerva... Minerva's got questions. Hit me with an ask on [my tumblr](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) if you'd like. Have a great night, and I'll see you with a new chapter - hopefully - in the new year!


	9. Our Disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:  
\- the commonwealth, inon zur  
\- all for one, alex roe  
\- our disease, keith power

Aubrey stepped out of the Lodge into warm, late-afternoon sunlight; it trickled down the eaves, pooling in shadow-flecked splotches on the ground like honey. A breeze rustled the leaves; twigs clattered, shadows twitched. Aubrey thought she heard the scrabble of a squirrel's claws on bark. She took a deep breath, savoring the forest air, and slowly let it out. 

Spring here was... incredible. It was her favorite season. She'd never spent a spring in Kepler, before; she'd come here in late summer, and all she'd known of this place was fall and winter's chill. There was something about spring in the mountains that made her skin tingle and her heart leap, as if she was constantly stepping from darkness into sunlight.

Wind caught the envelopes; they flexed against her hand, the edge digging into her palm. Aubrey sighed and tugged the Lodge's front door closed. Its latch thumped into place, its metallic click nearly lost in the spring breeze. She leapt off the porch, skipping the steps down to the parking lot, and marched off into the woods.

As she went, she had a strange urge to whistle as she walked, but tamped it down. There was no telling who would be out, at this time of day. Aside from the sounds of nature - the babbling Greenbrier, raucous birdsong, leaves rustling as squirrels raced through them, the gently mournful howl of the breeze - it was quiet. Just the tramp of her boots on the trail. If what she'd heard from Duck and Juno was any indicator, summer wasn't quite so busy as other months, but they still got the occasional group of hikers from nearby towns. And there were always the Hornets: racing up and down every path, riding inner tubes down the river, climbing trees, or -

A twig snapped behind her.

Aubrey stopped in her tracks, one foot just barely off the ground. Her stomach churned. The wind picked up; it was hard to hear over the rustling leaves, but she thought she heard footsteps, solid and slow - and strangely off-beat, like there were multiple pairs. Hikers? The Hornets, trying to sneak up on her? There was a soft huff, and another twig snapped. Aubrey swallowed and looked over her shoulder.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, as a deer stepped out of the woods about ten feet behind her. It ambled across the path, ears twitching and eyes wide, paying her almost no attention. Aubrey didn't know what to do. The deer looked about shoulder-height to her, with golden-brown fur and a white tail, and small nubs of antlers on its forehead. She took a couple steps backwards, and the deer's head jerked up, ears picked. Its huge dark eyes were fixed on her. "Hey," she said softly, with an awkward wave.

The deer stared at her, perfectly motionless. Its nose twitched. Eventually, it decided she wasn't worth the trouble and sniffed, ambling patiently off into the woods - almost as silently as it came. Aubrey giggled softly and kept going, glancing over her shoulder once she'd gone a few paces. The deer was gone.

After that, there was a spring in her step that was hard to make go away. When she got to the clearing, though, there was a nervous flutter in her stomach. Golden sunlight filtered through the leaves, shining into her eyes; the floor of the clearing was shrouded in the shadow, and the gate was like a cardboard cutout against the silhouetted trees. She gulped, clutching the letters, and took a cautious step into the clearing. Just because it had been a deer on the trail didn't mean there weren't things in the woods; she'd spent too long with the Pine Guard to take that for granted.

And that was even if her theory worked. That nervousness in her stomach turned to something sharper, something bitterly anxious. The real full moon was just five or six days out - if worst came to worst, she could wait until then, but...

_ Crystal fire on a silver chain - _

All she could think of was the weary slump to Mama's shoulders, the dull gleam of necklaces, the uncertain panic in Duck's eyes. Aubrey gritted her teeth and stepped towards the gate. She'd get her answers, if it was the last thing she did.

She took a deep breath and reached for the gate, as if dipping her hand in a pool to test the water. Through the gate, she saw the gentle sway of the Monongahela's maples and pines; ferns and bushes twitched in the breeze, and a few leaves that had fallen, inexplicably, from the trees skittered across the dirt. At first she felt nothing.

Then wind flowed through her fingers. The trees sighed and creaked. Warm air rushed through her hair; a breeze cold as ice water slammed up against her palm, filtering through her hand and numbing her fingers. Aubrey grinned, an excited thrill going up her spine, and surged through the gate.

It was like walking through fog, at first; Earth blurred, its atmosphere skating across her skin like gauzy fabric, while the shadows of Sylvain loomed in front of her. Aubrey took a breath and coughed immediately, wrinkling her nose against the smoky air. It was almost like walking into a movie theater, with how cold and dark it was. The rotunda's columns loomed in front of her like giant tree trunks; beyond, the bridge vanished immediately into the mist. The only things visible were the lamps on either side. And above, there was just the churning emptiness of the Sylvan sky. It was like walking into a silent thundercloud.

No shadows. Nothing moved. The gate was unguarded. Aubrey shivered, goosebumps prickling on her bare arms. All she had was her jean vest - she wished she'd had the foresight to bring a coat, but it was too late to go back now. She forced herself to walk forward.

The guards on the bridge were sparse, but they always appeared in pairs, one on each side of the gate. The few she passed had their backs to the bridge itself; they were busy watching the crevasse below the bridge with weapons at the ready. The emptiness unnerved her. Aubrey clambered over a fallen lamppost, wincing as her boots crunched in the dirt. Her arm still ached with last night's wound, like she'd gotten a flu shot in it. She could almost feel the harpy's claws digging into it, slicing through her coat. What if it happened again? 

Guilt twisted in her chest. She swallowed. Fuck, she wished she hadn't gone alone. 

The bridge seemed to stretch on forever. The stiff breeze howled through gaps in the guardrail, and the chains holding the lamps clanked mournfully. Aubrey got far enough that when she looked back, she couldn't see the rotunda through the mist anymore - but she still couldn't see the city. Just lamps, growing more and more distant, and piles of rubble on either side. All she could do was press forward. She dodged a pothole in the bridge, cringing at the hole she saw in the bottom. An entire section of bridge had fallen away, revealing the thick mist below. Aubrey didn't know how far it was to the bottom, and she honestly didn't want to find out.

As she scurried away from the pothole, her boot hit a small rock the size of her fist. It skittered across the stone, clattering into the guardrail. The sharp  _ click _ of stone on stone echoed. Aubrey didn't even have time to wince. Armor screeched incredibly close by, and hooves clattered as a centaur in bulky armor thundered out of the mist towards her.

Aubrey yelped and skittered backwards, as the centaur raised a huge spear and pointed it at her throat. Their hooves came close to trampling her. She held her hands up, letters fluttering wildly in the stiff breeze. "I'm - I can be here," she stuttered. "I'm allowed to be here. It's okay, I'm sorry -"

"Identification?" the guard said severely. The spear did not lower. Aubrey swallowed, mouth dry, and pulled open the inside of her vest. The Pine Guard patch stitched there gleamed faintly in the lamplight.

The centaur stared at her patch, every line of their face stony and hostile. Their gaze lifted; Aubrey felt her knees weaken, and tried to stand up straighter. She'd bitten off more than she could chew. She'd bitten off so, so much. Every other time she'd been here, she realized, Mama had been there as a buffer. An ambassador. All the guards knew her, all the Council members knew her name. Even some civilians knew who she was. Aubrey was nobody to these people, without Mama there to open doors and guide the way. She was walking on eggshells. 

Then the centaur's spear wavered, and lowered. "Go on ahead," they said, voice still suspicious. Their eyes flashed. Aubrey skittered past the spear and towards the city, feeling their cold stare on the back of her neck the whole time.

Fucking shit, it was freezing out. Aubrey hugged her chest, shivering, watching the ground as she went to avoid potholes. A dull roar of voices cut through the fog; she felt as if a crowd of people was waiting feet away, ready for her to slam right into them. The wind picked up, briefly, kicking dust into her face. Aubrey sneezed so hard her eyes ached, and she turned away from the wind.

A great shadow loomed before her, on the left side of the bridge. Aubrey stumbled to a stop and stared. It was as if a skyscraper had fallen into the ravine, or if she was standing next to the sinking  _ Titanic. _ The crashed airship was next to her, leaning right against the bridge; Soldiers milled around it and crawled over it. Its hull had smashed right through the border wall like an ax. There were places where she could see right into the city, where the wall's giant stones had crumbled.

And she could see, in flaking orange paint on the side, something vaguely familiar. She edged closer to get a better look. There was a symbol there, under what looked like the word "SANCTUARY." It looked like the insignia on the guards' armor, or fluttering on banners high above - even on the spine of Fabian's journals. A jagged orange crystal, surrounded by four stars, one in each cardinal direction.

But on this ship, instead of a crystal, there was a symmetrical orange tree. Aubrey squinted through the fog. Was she seeing it right?

As she inched closer, she heard two voices in the fog, shouting at each other. One was deep and booming; the other was high and shrill, almost drowned out by the wind howling through the rotting ship. It made her skin crawl with something that definitely wasn't the cold. There was a small knot of people on the bridge: soldiers, mostly, standing around awkwardly, while two people in the middle screamed at each other.

Aubrey crept closer.

"Do you understand - can you even  _ think _ -"

"At least we're actually willing to -"

" - stopped to  _ consider _ the repercussions? Is this a  _ game _ to you?"

Woodbridge and Vincent stood in the center of the crowd, glaring at each other and gesturing at the ship. Woodbridge stood closest to it, as if he was shielding it from Vincent and his soldiers. Over Vincent's shoulders, Aubrey saw Janelle; her hands were pressed together along the bridge of her nose, as if she was warding off a headache. Oh, boy, this wasn't good.

Woodbridge looked sickly as a ghost could be - not as bad as Moira, sure, but he still looked like a stiff breeze would tear him to shreds. "All I'm saying," he said slowly, "is that you don't know what could happen!" 

"And you do?" Vincent snapped. Woodbridge puffed up angrily, spluttering something incoherent. "We're -"

"All due respect, Vincent, but you don't know either," Janelle said wearily. Woodbridge threw up his hands triumphantly. Vincent grimaced, as if silently agreeing. "I believe I'm the expert on this. And my - my  _ verdict, _ " she said over Woodbridge, giving him a frosty glare, "is that this could be a two way street."

"Precisely!"

"Who's to say magic won't flow out -"

_ "Precisely!" _

"Woodbridge!"

"It's not like we're welding the damn thing on," Vincent said sourly. "If we're going to put it in, we can pull it out again."  _ That's what she said, _ Aubrey almost said; she bit the inside of her cheek. "It's reversible."

"You don't know that."

"It is, if you pull hard enough!"

_ "Vincent -" _

Whatever they were fighting about went completely over Aubrey's head. Vincent moved slightly; beyond him, she could see a dark shadow in the wall: a gap between two massive boulders. The same guard's door Vincent had led them through yesterday. Aubrey slunk to the very edge of the bridge, sneaking around the group by the bridge, and walked as fast as she could towards the door without a glance back. 

It felt like Aubrey was trying to drive somewhere, when all she knew was that her destination was "on the other side of town" - all she could do was wander in the general direction of the castle, going further and further into the center. It didn't take long to find the route to the castle again, though; the passages near it were the most well-maintained, as long as she went the right way. The soldiers were just as busy as last time, running around repairing the wall or heading for the airship outside.

Jesus. An airship. When Aubrey left the tunnels, emerging into the courtyard by the crystal, she could see it in the distance. It was a mountain splitting the sky, the deflated balloon that lifted it rippling in the stiff winds. She almost felt like it was a shark's fin, slicing through dark waters towards her.

The crystal towered over her - solid, grey, inscrutable as polished steel. Wilted brown flowers surrounded it in a pathetic ring. Near the base of the crystal, a single flower shone a proud golden yellow. Aubrey stared at it, something stinging her eyes. 

Something shrieked in the sky. Aubrey flinched, hand unconsciously drifting up to her bandaged wound, and jogged towards the stairs.

The door was cracked open slightly, thankfully; it didn't take long for her to haul it open, though it was heavy enough to make her shoulders ache. The doors opened on the dusty entrance hall; pale, milky light spilled onto the marble floors. It thrummed with the silence of an abandoned church. 

It was empty. 

Aubrey cleared her throat, peering around anxiously. "Uh - Heathcliff? Hello?"

The floor shook slightly, and the door to the Council chamber creaked open - just enough for her to see a massive yellow-orange eye, surrounded by grey fur. "Aubrey?" Heathcliff said, bewildered. "What in the world are you doing here?"

Aubrey waved feebly. "Hey, Heathcliff. You got a minute?"

"You're not supposed to  _ be _ here - did you try to go through the gate again?" The door swung open a bit more; Heathcliff looked aghast. "Aubrey, the moon isn't full for five more days! Are you hurt?"

"No, jeez, I'm fine," Aubrey said. "Listen, I, uh..." She looked over her shoulder at the open door. "You got a minute?"

Heathcliff's face sobered; his eyes narrowed. "I suppose," he said cautiously. "What do you..."

"Perfect, okay, let's chat," Aubrey said. She went right for the Council chamber, wincing as a stiff breeze howled through the door and raised goosebumps on her arms again. Heathcliff made room for her, scooting against the pedestals at the very back. Aubrey sighed; the noise echoed up into the chamber's vaulted ceiling. "Okay, Heathcliff?"

"Yes?"

"...About your bounty."

Heathcliff's ears flattened against his head. "Shh!" he hissed, almost literally. "Not so loud." A strange look entered his eyes - something almost worried. "Have you... had any luck?"

It was strange, the concern in his voice. Aubrey had never heard that level of... emotion, really, from him, especially not about bounties. Everything seemed to inspire curiosity in him, no matter how mundane or special. Just curiosity. It was fitting - he was a cat, after all - but this was bizarre. 

It was as if he had a stake in this. Something personal. 

Aubrey winced. "Luck? Uh... well, you were pretty vague," she pointed out. Heathcliff tilted his head from side to side. "We don't know exactly what it is you want. Like, do you want a Sylvan crystal from someone like Indrid, or Barclay? Who came over here legally? That's the only match we could come up with -"

"Of course not!" Heathcliff said, recoiling. "That's what allows them to stay on Earth soil, without relying on a hot springs or some such thing. It's not my right to infringe on that."

Relief washed over Aubrey. More than anything, she wished that Mama was there to hear it. "Okay, cool," she sighed. "Okay. Everyone was real worried about that one. But -"

"It's not one of those. It's... something more potent."

His voice echoed, and he swallowed nervously. Heathcliff hunched down, whiskers twitching, and leaned closer to Aubrey. Perhaps he was afraid of being overheard. After all, he was in the Council chamber; anybody could be listening. "There's someone here," he said softly, "that I'm worried about. And I think something on your side of the gate might be able to help."

Aubrey's mouth fell open. The silence pressed down on her, so thick she could almost feel it on her shoulders. "I - how the hell were we supposed to know that?" she whispered. "You barely gave us  _ anything, _ in that letter, you were so fucking vague -"

Heathcliff's eyes sparked. "Well, it's hardly my fault," he said sourly. "It isn't my fault that - that -" His whiskers twitched; his eyes darted over Aubrey's shoulder, around the room. "It's not my fault that some here don't have Sylvain's best interests at heart."

"What -"

Heathcliff edged even closer to her. Aubrey could almost see herself, reflected in his lamplike eyes. "Things here are taking a turn for the worse," he whispered. "You haven't been here; you haven't seen it. I have. I've seen it start to crumble, ever since the first war. If knowledge of what I'm after got into the wrong hands..."

"Aren't we the right hands, though?" Aubrey said faintly. "Don't we deserve to know?"

Heathcliff's stare turned slightly frosty - and deep, grim, burdened with something. It was then that Aubrey remembered just how ancient the being before her was - as old as the planet itself, far older than her, with a well of memories too deep for any being to erase. "Your kind's hands," he said, "were the ones who broke the crystal in the first place."

Aubrey shrank away.

"You might be here to help, but this is my planet," he went on. "There is only so much you're entitled to know."

"So you just wanted us to find the thing for us and give it to you, without - anything?" Aubrey said, aghast. "No questions asked, just - bam?"

Heathcliff looked genuinely perplexed. "Well, you delivered all my other bounties without question," he said, face scrunching up in an almost human frown. "I expected the same to happen here."

"Heathcliff, we -" Something swelled in Aubrey's throat, and she looked down. "Heathcliff," she said quietly. "There are... only so many necklaces with fiery orange crystals on them in the world."

Heathcliff stared back at her, unblinking. "Yes."

"There's only so much we can do." She looked up. "And we just - I get why you don't want to share so much with us, but when we're going to these lengths... we'd at least like to know why."

"Only so much you can do, eh." Heathcliff took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Only so much." He stared at a section of wall, eyes blank, as if looking at something far beyond it. At last his eyes drifted back to her. "I give bounties knowing that they will be fulfilled, in time," he said. "They always are, and always have been. Whether it's fate, or some other will beyond it, I do not know. But this bounty... it is unique." 

He lowered his head again, resting it nearly on his paws. They were eye to eye again. "You will know it when you see it," he said. "And that is a promise."

He said it with so much certainty that Aubrey was tempted to ask if he could see the future. Knowing the kind of people that came from Sylvain, it might not be much of a stretch. But before she could say anything else, a strange feeling crept through the air. Crept was the best way to put it; it prowled into the room, almost, its presence slinking along the floor. Aubrey felt it curl catlike around her ankles, warmth seeping into them. Her body warmed, as if she had stepped back into the sunlight of Earth.

"What in Sylvain's name," Heathcliff said faintly. 

There was a faint shiver in the ground. Heathcliff's eyes narrowed, and his whiskers twitched. Aubrey heard a cheerful whoop and a clatter of armor, and ran back to the courtyard. Behind her, the ground shook as Heathcliff uncurled himself and tried to follow, squeezing himself through the door. 

She got to the top of the courtyard steps and immediately stopped in her tracks. "What the fuck?" she said faintly. All she saw was Vincent, doing the best victory dance he could in the middle of a pod of soldiers, while Woodbridge stared at the crystal and Janelle scribbled feverishly in a notebook. At first, nothing seemed different that Aubrey could see.

But then, she realized. The crystal looked a bit lopsided - more complete. And the flowers surrounding it were a slightly greener shade of brown. Aubrey's heart skipped a beat.  _ What? _

Vincent punched the air a few times. "See! I told you!" he said proudly, pointing at Woodbridge with an awful screech of armor. "I  _ told you. _ I knew it would work."

"You guessed it would work," Janelle said blandly - but even from here, Aubrey could see her eyes flashing excitedly.

"I guessed, and I was right!" Vincent said. He convulsed oddly, doing something that looked half like a karate chop and half like a whip. "It's incredible. I - I can't believe -"

The courtyard was filled with just a bit more light. Aubrey could feel it radiating off the crystal - that same call she'd felt when she'd first stepped into the courtyard, all those months ago. Then, it was like a scream into a megaphone; now, it was just a soft call through an open window. But it was better than the deafening, sleepy silence she'd heard yesterday. Without thinking, she said, "What happened?"

All three Ministers' heads whipped towards her. Vincent's glee did not dissipate; Janelle looked bewildered, but her face relaxed into a warm smile. Woodbridge, though - as he'd looked at the crystal, he'd seemed thoughtful, even troubled. The pensive look on his face immediately turned to shock. "You," he said scathingly.

Aubrey raised her eyebrows at him.

"You - you  _ human, _ " he said, drifting up the stairs towards her. As he got closer, Aubrey couldn't be happier that her sunglasses were firmly on her face. Hopefully it made her more intimidating. "It's not a full moon! What the blazes are you  _ doing _ here?" 

"She must have come by to speak with me," Janelle said loudly. 

She raised an eyebrow at Aubrey; Aubrey nodded. As Woodbridge glared at Aubrey, she saw Janelle's eyes drift down to her hand. It was still clutching the two envelopes - Dani's in one, and their joint letter with Evelyn's personal letter in the other. "Yeah," she said brightly. "Just, uh. Wanted to give her an update on how things were going on our side."

"What, those?" Woodbridge sniffed, looking at the letters in her hand. "What are they?"

"They're, uh," Aubrey said. There was a flash of panic in Janelle's eyes. "I - here." She dodged around Woodbridge, who made a halfhearted grab for the letters, and pressed them into Janelle's hands. "They're from Mama."

"Couldn't anything important wait until the full moon?" Woodbridge said suspiciously. "It's just a few days away."

"Hey, I'm just the messenger, don't shoot me," Aubrey said, lifting her hands. "I'm -"

"It seems," Heathcliff said loudly, as Woodbridge opened his mouth to interrupt, "as though you've had a bit of a breakthrough down there."

"Yeah," Vincent said quickly. "Yeah, it's... it's - unbelievable." He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm just... amazed."

"What happened?" Aubrey said. She stared at the crystal. It looked as if a chunk had grown from it.

Vincent pointed at the city wall, and the airship that had nearly cut through it. "That ship," he said. "It had a crystal inside it. Looked like it was powering the thing. The crystal was almost the size of a person, it was. And it's Sylvan."

"The ship, or the crystal?"

"Both, we think," Janelle said. She had tucked the envelopes into her notebook and held it close to her chest, away from Woodbridge's grasp. "There was a gap in the main crystal about the same size as the one inside the  _ Sanctuary, _ so Vincent took a chance and refitted it. And the crystal melded with it."

"Whoa..."

"It melted like wax, and reabsorbed it," Janelle went on excitedly. "It's incredible. I've never seen anything like it. It's almost as if..."

She trailed off. "It's as if it's regrowing," she said, almost awed.

"That's amazing," Aubrey said. "Holy shit - y'all got lucky, I guess! Do you think it's going to help the planet?"

"As it is? Unlikely," Woodbridge said. "On a larger scale? Possibly."

"We don't know if we can," Janelle said.

"Well, we'd just have to find more pieces. For example," Woodbridge said, looking at Aubrey. His eyes were piercing. "It's rather common knowledge, Miss Little, that there are pieces of our crystal on your side. Both those taken by your ancestors, and those... carried over."

"We wouldn't know where to start, though," Aubrey said faintly. "I - I wouldn't even know where they could  _ be, _ the only ones we know of are -" She thought of the necklaces in Mama's office, and her chest ached. "The necklaces of people on Earth," she finished.

Woodbridge huffed. "Well, that could certainly be a start," he said sourly. "Start calling people back here, perhaps. Goodness knows we could use some... esteemed former members of our government here again, to lend their aid and knowledge."

"Vanessa?" Vincent said, at the same time Janelle said, "Indrid?" Woodbridge nodded.

Immediately, Aubrey knew that wasn't going to work. Vanessa and Indrid would probably pull their own teeth out before they came back to Sylvain. She could imagine Vanessa's frosty glare, the deadly ice in her voice - maybe she'd even shove Woodbridge out of the way with her staff.

And Indrid's sharp tongue would do most of the work. She'd learned, since knowing him, that he hated confrontation, but if someone started something he could finish, he'd be more than willing to do so with a faint smile and a cutting insult. He'd stayed on Earth for a reason. He wasn't coming back.

Janelle seemed to be of the same mind as Aubrey. She lifted her eyes to the clouds, as if begging for an anvil to fall and crush her. "They have no obligation to listen to us, anymore," she said.

"They have an obligation to their world!" Woodbridge exclaimed.

"Yes, they do," Vincent said.

"And, perhaps" Janelle muttered, "they're already keeping it."

Woodbridge recoiled. The very suggestion that some people saw Earth as their home seemed to sit wrong with him. Something about the distance between them made Aubrey uncomfortable. It wasn't unexpected, per se; she knew the Sylvan Council was as petty and hostile with each other as governments could be. But they'd always been in the peripheral, someone hovering just over the Pine Guard but never directly interfering. 

Now, they were up close and personal. Now they were immediate. Something shrank in Aubrey's chest. She didn't realize how much she'd been expecting them to be a solid, predictable bulwark, until she started seeing them falter.

_ "I've seen it start to crumble..." _

Aubrey felt eyes on her back. She turned, looking right into Heathcliff's slitted pupils. He gave her the tiniest nod.

But the feeling of being watched did not go away. She squinted through the grey cloud of Heathcliff's fur, looking past him into the main hall of the castle.

Standing just inside the door, hidden in the shadows, was a familiar young girl. Alexandra clutched the side of the door with a white-knuckled grip, as if struggling not to fall over; her hair was disheveled, her eyes bleary, as if she'd just woken up from an awful nap. She still held herself with regal poise, but stiffly. Uncomfortably. Aubrey's heart ached for her.

"What's going on?" the girl said stiffly. Her eyes were fixed on Janelle, and she tilted her head towards Aubrey. "What's she doing here?"

Her voice turned cold, snippy. Aubrey squinted at her, perplexed. What had she done to make Alexandra mad at her? "I'm not going to be here for long," she pointed out. "I was just - just on my way..."

Alexandra's teeth clenched. Aubrey blinked, and for a brief second her vision spun and blurred, the way it did when she rubbed her eyes and they flashed with color. Something strange itched at the back of her mind, and for the briefest moment, Alexandra seemed like she shone with blue light.

_ Like a Force ghost, _ a ridiculous voice said, in the back of her mind. Aubrey shooed it away, staring at Alexandra. She blinked, and the light was gone.

"You should probably get going," Vincent said. "It's going to be night on the other side of the gate."

"Yes. You should."

"Do you need a coat?" Janelle said, ignoring Woodbridge completely. "I can lend you one of mine, if -"

"No, it's like... late spring, early summer on our side, I'll be warm if I sprint for it," Aubrey said. Alexandra's stare kept boring into the side of her head. It made her more uncomfortable than Woodbridge's most hateful glare - and almost as scared as she felt standing by that pothole, staring down into the abyss, moments away from falling through. "I guess I - I'm done here. I'll see y'all in a few days, on the full moon. Later!"

She walked as fast as she could - almost jogging - away from the courtyard, headed right for the guard's courtyard entrance. Her vision swam again. She could feel the council watching her go. The warmth of the restored crystal bled away as she went, leaving a strange hollow in her chest that would not go away.

And maybe it was that haunting way Alexandra looked at her - eyes hollow, jaw clenched, face pale. Maybe it was just the cold. But it felt like everything she saw was tinged with blue.

* * *

_ Fabian, _

_ You have no idea how happy we were to hear from you, kid. We missed you so fucking much. Back in January, Aubrey rolled up with a bundle of letters so big she needed two hands to hold it properly, and I just about lost it. Hopefully she doesn't mind being the courier for a while, until we get to see you in person. Yeah, I know, exile, blah blah blah, but we'll find a way. Got to keep your chin up and all. _

_ I don't think I've told you about where we live, have I? You've probably heard where the gate is, but I bet nobody's told you about the town. It's called Kepler, and it's in the middle of the woods, in - _

A door slammed shut. "Fabian!"

Fuck. Woodbridge. Fabian slapped Dani's letter into a nearby book and slammed it shut. "Sir?" he called back. 

"Get down here," the old ghost said, voice severe. "I need to speak with you."

His voice drifted up and up, into the unending spiral of the Sylvain Palace Archives. Fabian gritted his teeth and stood up, grimacing as his leg prickled, and went for the nearest ladder. Rows upon rows of bookshelves coiled around the inside of one of the towers, which his mom lived at the very top of. There had to be thousands of books in there, of which Fabian had only read a small fraction.

Hopefully, he didn't accidentally shelve the book he'd stuck Dani's letter in. He cleared his throat and clambered down the ladder, skipping every other rung.

Woodbridge was waiting for him right next to the Archives' door. Of all people, he should have been the one to come upstairs. He could phase through walls, after all. Fabian bit back some choice words and straightened his robes, looking Woodbridge in the eye. "Yes?"

The ghost just looked at him down his nose, for an almost uncomfortable period of time. His eyes flashed suspiciously. Fabian squirmed. "You took your time," he said icily.

"I was on Level 7, sir. It's a bit of a drop."

"I can imagine," Woodbridge said. He sniffed, casting a baleful glare at the nearest bookshelf. "Are the books returning yet?" 

"Yes," Fabian said. "Slowly but steadily, sir. The early ones from the last millennium are starting to come back -"

"Able to identify a root cause yet?" Woodbridge interrupted. "The humans already know. Once you find an answer, we'll have to cross-check it against theirs, so we can tell if the spell has truly dissolved."

Fabian resisted the urge to point out that he'd suggested that exact thing, not even a month ago. "I'll have to wait and see, sir," was all he said. 

"But they're coming back."

"Yes."

"Good. I need you to look for something."

Fabian rooted through his pockets for his smallest notebook and a pen. "Section?"

"Not sure," Woodbridge said. He somehow made it sound like his lack of certainty was Fabian's fault. "Possibly military sciences, or even civil engineering."

Fabian wrote it down. "Time period?"

"Post-Break."

His pen froze on the paper. "Close to the Break? Or much later than?"

"Very, very close to. Perhaps within a hundred years of the human invasion."

Fabian shook his head. "I'm not sure if those books will be back yet -" Woodbridge went still, and his eyes hardened. "But I'd certainly be willing to try," he added hastily. "Specific keywords or topics?"

Woodbridge took a deep breath. "What I need," he sighed, "is anything related to the ships that crashed outside. Any evidence of what they are, where they came from."

"If it's there."

"It should be."

"If you're sure," Fabian said. 

"The ship had a piece of Sylvan crystal in it," Woodbridge said severely. Fabian's pen froze on the paper. "You're damn right I'm sure there's something here." 

An ink splotch bled from the tip of Fabian's pen. He swallowed, moving a line down and continuing to write. "Understood."

"The ship is called the  _ Sanctuary. _ Perhaps start there. I need whatever information you can find."

"I'll do what I can."

Woodbridge turned away, barely acknowledging him, and glided halfway through the closed door. He paused, the front half of his body still in it. "Mm. One other thing."

Fabian raised his eyebrows. 

"If there's any information," Woodbridge said slowly, "on what happened to the crystal after it was broken... that as well. Estimates of original size. Locations for where the pieces may have gone."

"That's too close to the Break for it to be guaranteed we'll find something," Fabian said. "I don't -"

"Don't take a chance," Woodbridge said scathingly. Fabian winced. "Anything on the crystal. Anything at all. No matter if we've pulled it for research before. Leave no stone unturned."

With that, Woodbridge drifted the rest of the way through the door, head held high. Around Fabian, the books seemed to settle back onto their shelves, as if they'd been listening the whole time and were mulling over what they'd heard. Fabian took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Good grief, he hated that ghost. He was one of the worst councilmembers, if only because he was lazy to a fault, and spent more time quibbling about minor policy and technicalities than actually taking care of the city. Vincent did more of Woodbridge's job than Woodbridge did, these days, and the city was all the better for it. 

Ultimately, though, Woodbridge was mostly harmless. A pain in Fabian's ass, but mostly harmless. The only danger came when he refused to do anything, and, well... that was nearly all the time. Negligent prick. Fabian scratched the back of his neck, peering down at his notes.

_ Crystal, airship, _ Sanctuary,  _ post-Break - within 100 yrs. civ. eng? mil. sci? _

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Fabian hoped Woodbridge wasn't expecting anything quickly. He was just a kid, for fuck's sake, stuck with an adult's job because nobody else was able or qualified enough to help. It'd help if his mom was down here, helping him sort through the books, but she was out doing Minister stuff with Vincent. 

But at least he had a place to start. He flipped his notebook shut, tucked it into his pockets Maybe, just maybe, he'd find something this time. And if he did, then he'd have plenty of time on his hands to finish Dani's letter.

* * *

The basement was soft, silent; it sounded almost like the silence on an old record, crackling and popping in Duck’s ears. He yawned, tilting his head and wincing as his neck popped. He was glad he'd left Beacon at his apartment for this one. The sword was absolutely incorrigible; he would make a snide remark about everything in the Lodge's basement, from the furniture to the wood paneling, to Thacker in the panic room... and especially to the swords. 

"Jesus, how many more of those are there?" Duck said, staring as Vanessa dumped an armful of weapons on the card table. The legs creaked. "That's... impressive?"

"No," Vanessa grunted. She turned back to the cabinet against the wall - a big dark oak thing, more like a wardrobe than anything - and propped the door open. Several racks of weapons were emptied out of it, revealing a few alcoves at the back. It looked almost like a rack in a small wine cellar. She peered into them, reaching into each cubby. "Awful condition. Impressive's not a word I'd - ah, shit - use to describe... these. Indrid, here."

Indrid glanced up from the pile of weapons. His arms were folded across his chest. "Mm?"

"What's this, you got any ideas?" Vanessa tossed a bracelet towards him. Indrid caught it like he was grabbing a hot potato. "Damn thing hurt my finger."

Indrid held the bracelet between his thumb and pointer finger, squinting at it. "That'd be the shark tooth," he said slowly, tapping it. Vanessa gave him a flat look. "Not sure what this was used for - might have been someone's jewelry, and they left it here... hm. Barclay would know. I'll ask him when I see him again."

"Think it's charmed?"

"You tell me." Indrid put the bracelet on the table. "If so, my money would be on a water breathing spell, or something similar." Vanessa hummed thoughtfully, peering back into the cubbies. 

"Jewelry, huh," Duck said. "Looks like we might be on the right track."

Indrid nodded pensively. "Yeah, possibly," he said. He stared around the basement; they'd barely put a dent in it. "We've got a lot of places where this could be hiding, if it's even here at all. At this point it's just... sifting. Sorting."

"Needle in a -"

"Haystack, yeah," Indrid said, their words overlapping. "It's the best we can do."

Finding something that matched Heathcliff's description would be a fucking daunting task. There was just so  _ much _ \- at least, as much as Duck expected from a secret, very-low-funded monster-killing agency like the Pine Guard. Still, he'd never seen this many weapons in one place outside out of a museum. There was a cabinet full of swords and spears, drawers full of knives; bows, crossbows; a few axes, a few  _ pick _ axes, and even some hand tools like hammers and saws.

There were even a few modern weapons, gathering dust in the back. Duck saw a repurposed hunting rifle and a few sniper rifles, that seemed to be gathering dust. "Those get any mileage?" he said.

Vanessa glanced at the guns. She ran a finger over the barrel of the sniper rifle. "Not really," she admitted. "Heathcliff's enchantments don't work well on Earth machines."

"Cold iron?" Duck ventured. "Ain't that - I've heard that's a thing."

"More like he just doesn't like them," Indrid said. "He's... particular, shall we say, about what he chooses to enchant, but he's also honor-bound to enchant something if you complete his bounty."

Indrid sifted idly through the pile of swords, nose wrinkling at the dust. His long fingers paused over a sword with a strange wavy blade; it looked like a long lock of wavy hair, or a metal snake writhing through grass. He carefully held it up, balancing its blade across his palm. The light gleamed on it, glancing into Duck's eyes. Indrid's fingers easily wrapped around the hilt. 

Something about the way he held it made Duck's stomach flutter. He thought Indrid was a seer, not a soldier. The sureness of his grip, the questioning tilt to his head - Indrid clearly knew his way around a sword, albeit in a detached and possibly rusty way. Had there ever been a time where he'd had to use one?

Indrid tentatively poked the sword's tip and winced. He quickly set it down, sucking on his finger. "Ow."

"You good?"

"Yeah. I knew it would happen, I just didn't expect it to sting that much." He gave Duck a wry smile. "Heathcliff has a fondness for unusual weapons," he said, glancing down at the wavy sword. "He just doesn't like human guns. The Narfblaster's an exception, because it's a toy - more of a curiosity, really, he loves those - but..." Indrid frowned. "I think he might have gotten nicked by a cannonball," he said slowly. "Or something. In the first invasion. He's got a chunk taken out of one ear, if you look closely -" 

"Indrid."

He looked up. "Mm? Yes, Vanessa?"

"Fascinating speculation. Sorry to interrupt," Vanessa said, not sounding sorry at all. "Do you remember Bridget?"

"How could I forget?" he said. "Why -"

"Didn't she have a fire-enchanted mace?"

Indrid's mouth fell open. "Fire on a chain, yes," he whispered. Vanessa nodded once. "Yeah... that could work, that fits... but I thought she took it with her, when she and Sparrow went - went west..."

He trailed off, looking at the floor. His eyebrows drew together pensively. Vanessa's eyes narrowed, and she leaned towards him. "Think it's a lead worth pursuing?" she said.

Indrid said nothing.

Then he suddenly swayed, grabbing the table to keep himself upright. Duck launched forward. "You okay?" he said, hand hovering near his shoulder. "Indrid?"

Indrid said nothing - just took a deep, shaky breath, as if he'd surfaced from the bottom of a pool. "Hoo, boy," he sighed, head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. "I - yeah." He put his other hand on Duck's shoulder, squeezing. "Just got a bit lightheaded for a second."

The sword Vanessa held wavered a bit, but she caught herself before it fell. She lifted her free hand, flexing her fingers. She looked up at them, perplexed. "Huh," she said softly. 

"What's goin' on?"

Vanessa's eyes just drifted down, staring at a point on Indrid's chest. She angled her chin at it. "Indrid," she said. "Your necklace."

It was like the room had been set on fire. All the hairs on the back of Duck's neck stood up. Indrid let go of Duck, both hands scrambling to pull his necklace out of his shirt. The chains tangled together, pendants clinking like a ring of keys. A faint orange glow flickered on the bottom half of Indrid's glasses. 

"Oh, jeez," Duck said softly, staring. "That's - that's good, right?"

"That's extremely good," Vanessa said, craning her neck to see into Indrid's palm. Her eyes shone with something strange, bewildered - almost hopeful. The gem in Indrid's hands - side by side with the metal Forest Service pendant - glowed a soft orange. It wasn't as if the entire crystal had started glowing, like a lightbulb; small fragments of orange stirred and ebbed, like leaves on the surface of a river. 

It was beautiful.

"What do you think happened?" Duck said, looking up at Indrid. "Do you think… the crystal's workin' again?" 

"I think so," Indrid said. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but thought better of it. The crystal in his hand gleamed; he tilted it so it caught the light, glimmering in his glasses. "We'd have to check in with Sylvain to be sure, but…” He grinned. “It looks like it.”

Duck glanced up at him, grinning in return - and froze. The smile slipped off his face. Indrid's glasses gleamed with pale blue light, reflected from somewhere over Duck's shoulder.

Had they really been down here this long? Was it already 6:14? He turned around, ignoring Vanessa’s suspicious stare, and saw a blue spectral figure hovering on the other side of the room.The air hummed with the promise of thunder, which Minerva's presence always seemed to bring; as far as he knew, she couldn't shoot lightning from her hands or anything, but she always radiated something great and powerful whenever she appeared.

But she wasn't even looking at him. Any minute now, she would turn around and say, "Duck Newton! Ready to train?" or "How goes your weekend?" or something like that, in that proud, booming voice of hers. Maybe she'd greet Indrid too, and Duck would pass her words along. 

Now, though, she was eerily silent. Duck swallowed. Her name hovered on the tip of his tongue.

A low, guttural wheeze broke the silence. Indrid and Vanessa recoiled. "What the fuck?" Duck said faintly. Indrid slowly let the pendants slip from his fingers.

There was silence - then Duck heard another loud, labored breath, like air wheezing through bellows, and something heavy fell against a door. Hinges rattled. Something scraped down a wall and landed on the floor.

Minerva's spectral body took a step backwards. Then another. Now, Duck knew for sure where the sounds were coming from. In front of her was the door to Thacker's panic room. 

"Oh, dear," Indrid said quietly.

Vanessa cursed softly and lifted her sword again, taking a step towards the door. She seemed to uncurl from where she stood, like a prowling cat; Duck subconsciously took a step back. “What’s happening to him?” she said. “He sounds... ill.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Duck said faintly. “Hey, uh... what are you doing?”

“There’s something else here,” Vanessa said, voice low. Minerva startled, as if she’d just noticed she was being watched, and stared at Vanessa. Her hands clenched into fists; she seemed ready for a fight. “It might be interfering with Thacker.”

The tip of her sword almost brushed Minerva's shoulder. Vanessa's head swiveled from side to side, like a hawk tracking a mouse - but her eyes seemed to be missing Minerva completely. Duck stared as Minerva's fists uncurled, hands half lowering to her side. 

"It's just Minerva," Duck said. Vanessa stared at him over her shoulder, brow wrinkled. "I - it's fine, she's with me. Minerva, what's goin' on?"

The door to Thacker's room rattled again, as if he was leaning right against it. Minerva staggered back and stared into the window. Hher shoulders slumped. At last, she turned back to him. Her stare - even though he couldn't see her face or eyes - burned through him. "Duck, you need to open this door," she said firmly.

"What?" Duck spluttered. "Why? I can't just - I can't fuckin' do that, I don't have the key or anything! I'm not -"

"He cannot leave that room," Indrid said, softly but firmly. "Mama's made that abundantly clear."

Minerva seemed to ignore their words. "I just need to get a closer look at him," she said. "He is - he's sick, Duck, he's dying."

Her voice shook slightly, and hearing that made panic flutter in Duck's stomach. "I -"

Before Duck could even finish his sentence, Thacker let out another choking wheeze, and a hand slammed against the window. Fingernails caught on the window's ledge, and he pulled himself up, slowly but surely. A baleful black eye stared at them through the reinforced window; the whites were nearly pitch black, and Duck couldn't even tell where the white stopped and the iris began. 

Minerva barely budged, still staring at him through the window. "I know this," she said softly. "I swear, I've seen this before." Thacker coughed weakly, sinking back down to the floor. Minerva turned and stared at Duck, her unseen eyes boring right through him. "Duck, what have you  _ done _ to him?"

Before Duck could say anything, the air flexed and hummed, and like a TV turning off she blinked out of sight. Only Thacker's wheezing breaths broke the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd apologize to Alexandra, but i'm not the one who needs to :P
> 
> happy new year, everyone!!! i know i keep saying this every time, but the plot is finally getting somewhere, and i'm super excited to see where it goes. i'm glad i'll finally be able to get into the nitty-gritty of what is Up with Sylvain, as well as everyone's relationship to it. i have to run and get dinner, but i hope yall liked this one! let me know what you thought!! catch yall later. come bother me [here](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/) on my tumblr


	10. Best of the Best of Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot fucking minute, hasn't it? 
> 
> Previously on The Children Of Sylvain:  
\- The Lodge went on a scavenger hunt, trying to find the match to Heathcliff's bounty.  
\- Duck got a visit from Minerva.  
\- Aubrey went to Sylvain.  
\- Boyd and Agent Stern took a very tense trip to Starbucks, and Muffy and Winthrop tried to ask them for information on Duck.
> 
> Might start doing these "previously on" summaries, if there's going to be a big gap between updates. Thanks for being patient!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:
> 
> \- ["Best of the Best of Times," Darlingside:](https://open.spotify.com/track/0fSAcuLklW9WVWZML7rhVD)  
“When the world speaks / It rattles through me like an antique / Or maybe it rings like an old bell / Wishing us some kinda farewell… //... We're a long way, long way / From **the best of the best of times"**  
\- ["Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts," Trevor Morris](https://open.spotify.com/track/34piNuGFHpPYWQnwH7LBov)  
\- ["Wallfisch: Mirror," Yuja Wang, Benjamin Wallfisch](https://open.spotify.com/track/2r7Nf2qqUNqk8g7ItZALk1)
> 
> and [the rest of the TCOS playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ)

Every Sunday evening, before the Cryptonomica opened the next day, Ned would wander through it and make sure all the exhibits were in order. He’d make a note of what needed to be restocked in the merch section - postcards, keychains, shirts - and pop open the ancient vending machine to collect its change. It was a quiet, steady necessity. Things might be out of place; things could be broken, or unspeakably grimy. 

The Cryptonomica always seemed to need a good dusting. Ned took a deep breath, feeling the building’s musty air settle in his chest, like a cat settling down for a nap. His teeth ground; he closed his eyes, doing his best to unclench his jaw. Every eye in every exhibit model seemed to stare at him; the back of his neck prickled.

Behind him, Barclay paged absentmindedly through the _Pocahontas Times, _a few copies of which were on the Cryptonomica counter. Ned glanced over at him. Barclay’s hands and nest of greying hair - back to normal shagginess after yesterday’s crystal scare - were the only parts of him visible behind the newspaper. Boyd’s mugshot was slapped on the front page, slightly creased from the way Barclay held the paper.

Barclay turned the page. Boyd Mosche’s face flopped around, glaring wearily at Ned. He was a bit roughed up and smudged with soot. The mugshot must have been taken right after he was arrested, six years ago; he hadn’t changed much. Ned’s lip curled, and he turned away. 

The narrow gaps between exhibits formed hallways, weaving through the Cryptonomica like a maze; from here, Ned could see a grotesque statue. It wouldn’t be out of place on the roof of a church; its bat-like wings were tucked around each other like a cloak, and the statue was hunched over, as if prowling in circles on top of its pedestal. A horrible gnarled goat’s face scowled out at the Cryptonomica.

Ned scowled back at it. Looks like Boyd couldn’t get everywhere on looks alone. He wondered if Boyd actually looked like this in real life - this scrawny, misshapen, ugly thing, with thin deer-like legs and a mouth toothy as a bear trap. Eyewitness accounts were shady at best, but…

Ned remembered. That night in the alleyways of Atlanta, Georgia; the hot heavy weight of summer, insects buzzing against streetlamps. A stolen violin, a reclaimed wallet; the strangled roar, streetlights gleaming red-orange in Boyd’s eyes. Ignorance really was bliss, huh?

The Jersey Devil’s antlers were crusted with dust. Ned pointedly turned his back on the exhibit and looked at Barclay, crossing his arms. “So,” he said curtly. “What was he to you?”

The paper went limp. Barclay’s face appeared behind it, looking stunned.

Ned jerked his head towards the statue. “Your Boyd. Your… ‘Jersey Devil.’ What was he?” He scoffed quietly. “‘Good enough to be the Pope,’ you said once. Always thought he was a bit of a monster, personally,” he added. “But not literally.”

Barclay opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it. “Yeah, got me there,” he said faintly. “I knew him.”

“Knew he was coming back?”

“No, we thought he was _dead,”_ Barclay said, aghast. His face was grave. “We thought he - we lost him after the Ashminder, and then we couldn’t find him. Nobody knew the name he was goin’ by after that. We just - we didn’t know.” Barclay’s mouth twisted. “Boyd. Boyd Mosche. That’s gonna take some gettin’ used to.”

Huh. That explained an awful lot about the way Boyd was, while Ned knew him. Always seemed like he was missing something - looking over his shoulder for people who weren’t there. Looking past Ned. Some half-forgotten, gnawing pain flared in his chest, and Ned gritted his teeth. “But you knew him.

“Yeah,” Barclay sighed. “I… did, yeah. He’s not the Boyd we have now, but -”

“I don’t know, is it?” Ned said. “If my memory serves, he’s sure as hell not the Boyd _you _knew.”

“And he’s not the one you know either!”

“So you’re fine with him being back?”

Barclay’s brow creased. “Should I not be?” 

“Knowing what I’ve told you about him, answer that for yourself,” Ned sighed. His eyes drifted to the newspaper, folded neatly on the countertop. “You wouldn’t have liked him, the Boyd I knew. He was a fucking bastard.” Something in his voice was cutting enough to make Barclay wince. Ned would call it honesty. “He was the muscle of the operation, usually. Brawn to my brains.” The corner of Barclay’s mouth twitched. “And we did…”

Flashes of light. A wooden beam, flaming, falling; the dull throb of burned skin, crooked on his back like the strap of a messenger bag. The house had been collapsing, when he and Boyd were scrambling out, burning drywall and charred carpet raining down. Boyd had gotten out first, running like the hounds of hell were after him, but Ned. 

He’d stayed. He’d paid a small price, in scars and a ruined coat, but someone else could have paid a much bigger one.

“We did awful things,” he finished quietly. “Awful, awful things. And there were lines, of course, but Boyd, he… he always had more of an edge than I did. More willingness to go darker, faster.”

Barclay swallowed. He folded his hands together on top of the newspaper, took a deep breath, and said, “Yeah, that - sounds like ‘im. Christ.”

"Oh, so he _was _like that with you."

"For a hot minute, yeah! We had to wrestle him off a shrimp-covered highway, back in the day, while he tried to claw our goddamn eyes out. Almost broke Indrid’s arm, that time. Boyd was a fucking menace," Barclay said. "But he got better."

Ned raised an eyebrow.

"And then got worse," Barclay amended. "I just... it's so - God." His face creased in a sympathetic grimace. "You don't want him here, do ya."

Ned shook his head.

"You don't want to go back to the Lodge, as long as he's still here."

"I don't trust him enough, no," Ned said firmly. "Not unless there's a damn good reason for me to bite that bullet. He should've stayed in Berkeley Springs, if you ask me."

"Part of me wonders what would've happened if he did," Barclay mused. "He had a sweet gig out there, from the sounds of it. Food and shelter, quiet place away from the worst of the world."

_Yeah, just like jail, _Ned thought.

"But he came runnin' back here anyway.” Barclay’s face softened, in a strangely fond way that made Ned's stomach turn. "Guess he really knew where his home was."

Ned took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes. Part of what made Kepler his home was that - at least, for the past six years - it was somewhere Boyd wasn't. Hell, he could go to fucking Alaska, and it'd still be home, because it was on the other side of the continent from the guy. Couldn't Kepler be Ned's home, too?

"First thing he did. Busted right out, risked life 'n limb -"

"Well, he's here in one piece, no need for a standing ovation," Ned muttered. Barclay's eyes flashed towards him, brows drawing together. "Yeah, okay, that was kind of harsh."

"It's okay," Barclay said, with a small grin. "I was thinkin' the same thing, once it came outta my mouth." Ned laughed softly and leaned against the counter, drawing shapes in the dust with his fingertip. "It's just so... odd, how the two of ya ended up back here. After everything. Hell of a fuckin' chance..."

Ned's fingers screeched to an audible halt on the glass. "If you say that it's a blessing I met him," he said, voice low. Something cold stirred in his chest, like a snake waking from slumber.

"I'm not."

"I'm throwing myself off a cliff."

"He's not a blessing," Barclay said.

Ned wiped his dusty finger on his shirt. "Don't say I got here because of him," he said sourly, "because I didn't. We may have ended up on the goddamn East coast because of him, but he didn't bring me here. _Here,"_ he repeated, gesturing at the Cryptonomica. "This building. You know who we can really say got me here?"

Barclay opened his mouth.

"Victoria."

Barclay's mouth slammed shut. His face crumpled slightly, in a way that made Ned pause. "Victoria?" he repeated, voice almost but not quite a whisper.

"Yeah, her," Ned said. "If it wasn't for her..." He spread in his arms, taking in the entire Cryptonomica. "This place wouldn't be here. Hell, I wouldn't be here. She gave me a chance when she didn't have to, Barclay. Boyd, though... he's got nothing to do with chances. He's got nothing to do with my present, or my future. Just my past. He ruined my life. And he can fuck right off." 

He didn't realize how loud he'd gotten until he closed his mouth, and the silence clogged his ears like cotton. It was as if everything in the room was holding its breath. Barclay was silent for a long, long moment; he looked down at his hands, folded neatly on the newspaper. At last, he shoved the paper towards the end of the counter and leaned forward, looking right into Ned's eyes. "You say Victoria got you here," he said quietly. 

Ned swallowed. The frank seriousness in Barclay's eyes - tempered with something soft and unnamed - was almost scaring him. "Yeah," he said. "It's damn close to the truth, anyway."

Barclay's eyes crinkled at the corners, in a soft almost-smile. "Know what I was gonna say? I was gonna say, 'you.'"

And for one of very, very few times in his life, Ned was at a loss for words.

"Victoria gave you the chance, sure," Barclay said. His voice sounded strange, saying Victoria's name, as if it was something stuck in his throat. "I... got my own thoughts about her, but -"

His face was haggard, the lines of it deep and weary. Bringing up Victoria seemed to cave something in, deep inside him. It almost made Ned forget the churning emptiness in his stomach, surrounding everything that they’d said about Boyd. "She was a good woman, Barclay," Ned said softly. "The one I knew."

Barclay's eyes were sad. "Feel like there's an echo in here," he said wryly. 

Ned rolled his eyes. "It's not the same thing as Boyd -"

"No, it doesn't have to be, and I understand. She went a ways back with the Lodge, ‘n then things got - rough, let's say, and things broke off in a real nasty way. I'm not saying she wasn't a kind woman," Barclay amended. "But the Victoria I knew... we never cleared the air. I don't wanna talk about it right now, but -"

"Yeah, sure, that's fine," Ned said quietly. "I get it."

"Okay. Yeah." Barclay sighed heavily and said, "If the Victoria you knew was anything like the Victoria I first knew, then, well... she did the right thing in giving you a chance. But you're the one who took it. You've done some buckwild things -"

"Yeah, lookin' right at one," Ned said, gently nudging Barclay in the arm.

Barclay rolled his eyes, but some of the tension was leaving him. He smiled. "Stop that. Just sayin'. You've gotten better, over the years and that... I wanna say, that's all you."

"See, dear, now you're just being generous," Ned said. "Tryin' to give me a distraction. How dastardly."

"With everything that's been happening these days," Barclay said with a weary smile, "I'd say you need one."

His eyes seemed unfocused, wandering - as if there was a spiral of thoughts just waiting for him to fall down it. "A distraction, hm? You look like you need one yourself," Ned said. "Sorry for gettin' all that stuff on your mind, I just..."

Barclay chuckled dryly. "Not much more than I'm already thinking about," he said distantly. "Lot of stuff happening lately."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Barclay grimaced. "It ain't much, Ned, I'll figure it out."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Sure-sure?"

"Yes, you old coot," Barclay said, flicking the inside of Ned's wrist with his finger. "Stop that."

Ned cackled. He leaned forward, gently patting Barclay's cheek. The bristles of his greying beard tickled his hand. "Tell you what," he said, gently placing his hand over Barclay's and squeezing. "Talkin' about distractions? Take the night off. Let's get something to eat, or grab a cup of coffee, or just -"

"Figure somethin' out?" Barclay sighed. "Yeah, y'know, that's soundin' more and more appealing by the minute. I was -" He cut off, clearing his throat. "I was thinkin' of going back to the Lodge for the night, I gotta cook dinner -"

Ned sighed. "Gonna leave me here, then?" he said. Barclay gave him a look, and he grinned. "I'm teasin', don't worry. My point from earlier still stands though. Unless I've got a damn good reason, I'm not goin' over."

"Oh, yeah, I understand," Barclay said. "One hundred percent. If you can stand it out here by yourself for a hot minute, I can whip somethin' up and bring back leftovers. Hell, maybe Duck and Aubrey'll come back with me."

Something warm flickered in Ned's chest at the possibility. "Think they'd do that?"

Barclay shrugged. "I think they'd be happy to," he said. "It's not like they haven't before."

"I'll bring in chairs from the porch -"

Before Ned could finish, Barclay froze. His head slowly turned, as he squinted at the entrance to the Cryptonomica. "Hear that?" he said quietly. He let go of Ned's hand, craning his neck to see out the front window. "There's someone walkin' up."

"What -"

Then Ned heard it: the sound of feet crunching in the gravel parking lot, and then the groan of the wooden stairs - creaking under two pairs of feet. The door rattled, as if someone had slammed right into it. "You gotta pull," Ned called over his shoulder. He and Barclay glanced at each other, confused. "Who the hell -?"

The door swept open, groaning on its hinges - Barclay cringed, and Ned made a mental note to oil them, thinking Barclay's reaction was to the doors. But then he saw who was on the other side. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he muttered.

Standing on the Cryptonomica porch were two people that Ned never wanted to see on his doorstep, decked out from head to toe in summery hiking gear. They were both panting heavily and leaning on each other, as if they'd walked at top speed across town to get here. "Oh," Muffy wheezed, clutching the door frame. "You're actually here. Wonderful."

"Hope we're not interrupting anything... important," Winthrop said. Despite being severely and embarrassingly out of breath, he managed to give the two of them a meaningful, simpering look.

"Don't really think that's any of your business, but alright," Barclay said, with a polite smile. Ned bit back a loud guffaw. "What the hell d’you two want?"

"Actually," Winthrop says, eyes swiveling. "We're here to... speak with Ned. Hoo boy." He slumped against the other side of the door frame from his wife, dramatically wiping sweat from his brow. "We've run into a spot of trouble."

"Shame, real shame," Ned said, trying his best to sound concerned. Barclay gave him a flat look. "What?"

"When I said we needed a distraction, I didn't have this in mind at all," Barclay muttered. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You deal with them, I'll just -" The phone in the kitchen started to ring. Barclay snapped his fingers and pointed at it. "I've got that, you handle our esteemed guests."

"Leavin' me to do this? All alone?" Ned whispered. "How could you?" Barclay swatted him on the arm and went into the kitchen.

Muffy had collapsed into a chair near the cash register, fanning herself with a copy of the Lamplighter. "Sorry to ask, but do you have a bathroom on the premises?" she said faintly.

Ned waved vaguely towards the other end of the Cryptonomica. "Yeah, follow the signs," he said. "First door on the right." Muffy pulled herself to her feet and skittered away, almost knocking over the dryad exhibit's statue on her way. Jeepers creepers. Too bad her flailing elbows hadn't hit the Jersey Devil statue on the way over.

Winthrop had taken a seat at the card table by the vending machines, twiddling his thumbs and anxiously staring at a coffee stain on it. Ned pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, with a heavy sigh. "So, Mr. Maplecourt," he said. "What can I do for you? No guarantee I'll be able to give you a hand, but let's hear it anyway."

Winthrop Maplecourt was a lanky reed of a man, but not the same way as Indrid; where Indrid moved with a precise inhuman fluidity, like a moth preparing to take flight, Winthrop simply looked uncomfortable. Like he was about to shit his pants at any given moment. He seemed as sculpted and perfectly-posed as a department store mannequin, and there was a constant hungry, pinched look on his face. The almost-rich and the not-quite-powerful always looked like that, and could never completely shake it. 

Right now, that look was on his face in full force. "So, Mr. Chicane," he said. "A couple of days ago - more like this morning, rather - we ran into some issues with an associate of yours."

Ned raised his eyebrows. "Define associate."

Winthrop's thumbs twiddled faster. "Acquaintance."

"You mean 'friend?' You do realize, I have friends."

"Yes, I suppose," Winthrop said, sniffing. "Your friend. This morning, we were out hiking with a group of friends, and, well... we ran afoul of the forest ranger Duck Newton."

Oh, criminy. "What, Duck?" Ned said. 

Winthrop nodded fervently. His thumbs were twiddling fast enough to power an outboard motor. "And we're just attempting to make sense of the situation," he said, "as best we can." Situation? "Duck Newton is - well - he's your friend, you know what he's been doing. It's not hard to see, Mr. Chicane, that he's got shady things happening on the side."

"Mm."

"We see him in the woods at inopportune hours!" Winthrop exclaimed. "He's shacked up with that grubby man from the trailer park! And we’ve - we've seen him with a sword. A sword! Isn't there some kind of ordinance against this?"

"Listen, I'm not a cop, you don't have to give me an itemized list of crimes to make me listen to ya," Ned said, lifting his hands. "Winthrop, my man. Tell it to me straight."

The pinched look in Winthrop's face got even worse. He stopped twiddling his thumbs, instead lacing his fingers together so tight it hurt to watch. There was a flicker of panic in his eyes. “I…”

Now, Ned knew Winthrop. He knew his kind - the type who would rather come right up to a customer service desk and cuss out an employee for not having an item available, instead of looking for it himself. If he believed something was wrong in his life, he would not hesitate to shout it from the rooftops. But this... this silence was troubling. Winthrop was afraid to tell the whole story. He couldn't be the original holder of the complaint. 

So someone had put Winthrop up to this - or was giving Winthrop a hell of an ultimatum. 

He could work with this.

Ned inched his chair a bit closer. "I can help you, Mr. Maplecourt," he said gently. "You came to the right place. You know me, Ned 'Helpful' Chicane, eh? Just tell me what Duck's done to you, and I'll do what I can to smooth things over. He's - he's an upstanding individual, as far as I know. What do you know that I don't?"

The change was visible. Ned thought he'd never see the day where he needed to give Winthrop permission to talk, but the minute he asked, Winthrop was off like a shot. He heaved a big dramatic sigh. "Here's what happened," he said. "Me and my honey were hiking in the woods, with some of our friends who were in town."

"Upstanding folks, I’m sure" Ned said.

"And they got ahead of us, and ran into a place of... unsavory repute in the woods." Winthrop shifted in his chair; it squeaked. "Now, my dear friend Charles, he's a man of the law - retired for other pursuits, you must understand - Charles suspected something was up, and attempted to investigate this place."

"Little shack in the woods?" Ned inquired.

Winthrop's eyes brightened. "Yes, precisely! Full to bursting with potted plants and other such… _paraphernalia."_ Oh, for Pete's sake. They'd found the Hornets' greenhouse. Thanks to all the times he'd heard Duck bitch about busybodies who'd reported the place to him and Juno, Ned knew exactly what was going on. "And, you see, he got suspicious, and tried to do his duty and investigate, and there was an... altercation."

Ned winced. "Ooh, altercations," he said sympathetically. "That's never fun -"

"And my dearest Muffy," Winthrop said over him, "managed to flag down your friend Duck. And, well, he handled the situation less than admirably."

Now if that was true, Ned would eat his walking stick. He knew Duck. He knew the type of people Duck hated. The Venn diagram of people like Winthrop and the people Duck couldn't stand was a circle. Duck must've told the "let me speak to your manager" crew off pretty bad, if this conversation was leading where Ned thought it was. "Do tell," he said.

"Let's just say he got a lot of important people very angry," Winthrop said. "Now, as you understand, we're in a bit of a predicament with friends of ours that are... far more powerful than we are. We have to appease them. And one of the ways that they -"

"Charles, you mean," Ned interrupted.

Winthrop grimaced. "Well, yes. One of the few ways that he'll be satisfied is if Duck Newton is... punished for what happened."

There was a panicked lurch in Ned's stomach; the idea of any of his friends getting hurt by a bunch of bigwigs made him want to hurl. "I see," he said darkly. "So that's why you're here. You want information on Duck to pass to your friend, so he can... oh, I don't know. Ruin his life. Get him fired. So on."

Winthrop beamed. "Yes, precisely! See, I knew you would understand," he said brightly. "Ideally, we think our friend would like it if he was fired, or at the very least put on some sort of - review? Probation? Whatever the term is. Whatever information you give us must be precursory to a punishable offense of some sort."

"Mm. And - Mr. Maplecourt, if I was to do this, what would you give me in return?" Ned said.

"My wife and I will pay your next year of rent," Winthrop said immediately. "Or mortgage, or whatever it is you people pay for these buildings. No questions asked, we will do it."

There was a glint in Winthrop's eyes - something satisfied. As if he thought he had this in the bag. Ned had to commend the man, he really did; he was skilled, sleazy, good at spinning a sympathetic story. He was a bit of a self-important hack with his head up his ass, sure, but Ned knew plenty of lesser folks who would take Winthrop's bait, hook, line and sinker. 

And that was some positively scrumptious bait. Ned didn't believe for an instant that Winthrop would follow through with such a thing, but... there was a tiny sliver of him that would, in another time, take him up on that. Only mere months ago, he was being threatened with an eviction notice. A year of rent would go a long way to keeping him afloat.

He nodded pensively, hands folded under his chin. Winthrop leaned forward.

Then Ned said, "No."

Winthrop recoiled.

"You seem to be suffering from the delusion that I, Ned Chicane, would sell out a close friend of mine," he said. Winthrop's eyes flickered with confusion, and Ned chuckled. Ned may not have been a crook anymore, but he sure was an actor. Looked like Winthrop fell for his act completely. "Oh. Oho, I see. You thought that Duck and I come from two different sides of the track, and our friendship is one of... what, tolerant convenience? No! Good grief, man, I'm better than that!"

"But he's been up to things," Winthrop said faintly. "It's - plain as day, Ned, what on Earth is _wrong _with you?"

Ned shook his head, half-smiling. "Even if there was something shady going on in his life, it's none of my goddamn business. I would never throw him - or any of my other friends - under the bus. Never."

Winthrop spluttered something inaudible. 

"Sorry, buddy," Ned said, smiling placidly. "I'm not your man."

Winthrop's entire face twisted, as if he'd bitten right into a lemon, and he stood up. "Fine," he spat. "Fine. I knew I never should have come here, if you were going to be this... stubborn."

"If you got a list of his friends somewhere, don't bother going down the rest of it," said a voice from behind him. Ned turned; Barclay leaned on the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and a grim look on his face. "You'd be wasting your time."

"And you bet your ass we're gonna tell him you were tryin' to get him," Ned added, grinning at Winthrop. "Nice try, buddy. Now get lost."

"Gladly," Winthrop sniffed. "If you change your mind, Ned, you know where to find us." Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched out into the parking lot, slamming the door behind him. The bell above the door tinkled. 

Ned and Barclay watched him leave, shaking their heads. "Good fuckin' riddance, my God," Barclay muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. "The hell was he tryin' to do, blackmail Duck?"

"Exactly," Ned sighed. "Sleazy dirtbag. Money really can't buy common decency."

"For him or his rich friend," Barclay said darkly. "If Winthrop is this much of a piece of work, I shudder to think what his 'man of the law' friend who endorses blackmail is like."

"I'm with you there." Ned stood up, rubbing his shoulder. "What was that phone call about?"

Barclay took a deep breath and said, "Yeah, that was the -"

Somewhere inside the Cryptonomica, water started running.

The noise made them both jump. Barclay and Ned stared at each other, then towards the side of the building. "What the hell?" Ned said faintly.

The water turned off. A paper towel dispenser rattled. Then heels clicked on the Cryptonomica floor, echoing in the near silence; Muffy drifted out of the entrance to the bathroom, hands casually shoved in her jacket pockets. "Oh, it's you," Barclay said disdainfully. "You took your time."

"Where did Winthrop run off to?" Muffy said, ignoring him completely. She laughed; her perfect teeth flashed in the low light. "Ned, don't tell me he's already come to an agreement with you!"

"The exact opposite, actually," Ned said. The smile dropped off Muffy's face so fast, Ned swore he could hear it shatter on the ground. "He made a break for it. I suggest you do the same."

Muffy's lip curled, and she sniffed, "You -"

"We're closed for business," Ned said, grinning at her. "Come back tomorrow, we open at eleven a.m.! Right now, though, you're trespassing, and -"

"I -"

Winthrop's voice rang out from the parking lot. "Muffy, for goodness' sake, let's just _go!"_ he yelled. Muffy gave Ned and Barclay a disdainful sneer and charged out of the Cryptonomica, doing her best to look like she wasn't running away.

Ned and Barclay winced as the door slammed shut. "I've never been happier to see someone leave," Barclay groaned. "Good Lord. You handled that real fuckin' well, Ned, that was great."

"Well, thank you," Ned said, grinning at him. "If there's anything I do well, it's scare people off." Barclay gave him a flat look, his lips twitching in a smile. "Aw, don't give me that. What was that phone call about?"

The smile froze on Barclay's face froze, and fell away. He nudged the chair at the card table back into place. "It was Evelyn on the phone," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "She wants both of us to come back - the place has been in a real tizzy, because Duck went and ran Heathcliff's fuckin' bounty letter through the washing machine, and then he read it, and... things are a mess. We missed the important part of today, and they want to get us looped in. Caught up. Y'know."

He trailed off. Ned could feel Barclay looking at him expectantly. He gritted his teeth. "Evelyn. Does she know?" he said, looking up. "About me and Boyd?"

Barclay shook his head. "I doubt it."

"Figures."

"It's Pine Guard stuff," Barclay said softly. "It's... pretty important, and I - I don't wanna miss what's goin' on, we were already out of the loop today, anyway -"

"So you want to go back?" Ned said.

"I mean - it's Pine Guard stuff, so..."

_"Will_ you be goin' back?" 

Barclay went still for a moment. In the overhead lights of the Cryptonomica, his face was thrown into cold, troubled shadow. "You know I have to," he said quietly.

"Well, if you're going," Ned said. He took a deep, shaky breath; that faint ache in his gut had turned into a full-on lurch, cold and foreboding. Barclay put a hand on his shoulder; he reached up and squeezed it. "Then I'm going too."

Barclay's eyes widened. "You don't have to -"

"Hey, you said it yourself," Ned said, with a soft smile. He squeezed Barclay’s hand again. "It's Pine Guard business. What else can I do but go?"

* * *

It felt like it was going to snow. That cottony, staticky silence, muffled and grim - the kind of silence that roared in her ears when she thought she was being chased. Once she left the guard passageway, it was all Aubrey could do to not break into a dead fucking sprint. She settled for power-walking like a white mom down a suburban street, speeding past the guards who’d tried to stop her before. 

A stiff breeze shook the lampposts; the lamps jangled on their chains, casting shaky shadows on the crumbling bridge. Aubrey winced and hunched against herself, feeling grit kick into her eyes, and kept moving. All she wore under her jean vest was a T-shirt; the cold Sylvan wind sliced through it, and raised goosebumps on her arms. The howling wind through the bridge supports sounded muffled. The _Sanctuary _vanished into the mist; she could almost feel it arching over her like an extended arm, grasping for her. 

When she blundered through the gate into Kepler’s afternoon sun, it was like falling into a warm swimming pool: a rush of warmth, sinking into her frozen flesh. Aubrey gasped for breath, staggering towards the trees, and fell onto the grass. Pebbles dug into the palm of her hand.

The Greenbrier clattered over stones in the distance. Aubrey took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.

She still felt cold. The chill followed her, lurking in her chest, as if the energy was being sucked out of her. Aubrey sat back on her heels, rubbing her arms to force warmth back into them. The green-and-gold glow of the forest, just before sunset, seemed strangely muted and washed out. All she could think about was the strange blue sheen in her vision, when Alexandra stepped onto the palace steps. Like she’d been standing in the glow of an invisible computer screen.

And she’d looked so, so tired. And angry. And _sad_. Aubrey hoped that Janelle was keeping an eye on the girl. Having all that weight on her shoulders all the time, without anyone to lend a hand… just thinking about it made something crumple in Aubrey’s chest. She pulled herself up, sucked in a deep lungful of forest air, and began the long trudge back to Amnesty Lodge.

Night sank down as she went; dark clouds swirled over Mount Kepler, burning orange and purple in the setting sun. Wind whipped the trees, and the air promised rain. When she came out of the woods, Amnesty Lodge was still and silent, the lights inside casting a warm glow on the parking lot. Aubrey squinted through the Lodge windows. Evelyn was reading a magazine on the couch, sitting next to the phone, and Dani and Jake were in the dining room. From the looks of it, they were absolutely mutilating a bunch of old coloring books, a favorite pastime of theirs when they were stressed. 

Duck’s forest service truck and Stern’s sedan were still in the parking lot. Nobody else was in sight. It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed she was gone. Hell, maybe they’d even stopped looking for Heathcliff’s bounty, and were settling down for the evening. Aubrey crept onto the porch and edged open the door, tiptoeing over the creaky boards.

A warm rush of sound swept over her - the gentle hum of mingling voices, rustling paper, the creaking of branches through the Lodge’s glass dome. Someone’s dishes clinked; Evelyn coughed gently on the sofa and turned a page. Aubrey felt strangely warm and fuzzy inside. Coming back to the Lodge always felt familiar, in a way she could never really explain. Mama’s office door was cracked open just a bit. Hopefully she was still in there, and Aubrey could let her know what happened.

The minute the door latched shut behind her, though, Dani’s head jerked up. Her eyes went wide. “Aubrey?” 

Aubrey winced, stopping in her tracks. “Hi,” she said feebly, waving. Jake waved back. “Uh.”

“Where the hell were you?” Dani asked, standing up. “You just vanished from my room, we were worried sick!”

“I, uh. Went out?” Dani gave her a look that said she didn’t buy it. Aubrey tentatively added, “To Sylvain?”

Immediately, the air shifted. Dani’s face went pale with shock. “You did what?” she said, voice faint and brittle with panic. “You went through the gate? Aubrey, what the hell - are you - are you _okay?”_

Behind her, Jake slowly put down his colored pencils. The smile was completely gone from his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aubrey said brightly, “I’m just peachy! I just kinda… y’know.” She made a vague walking gesture with her fingers. “Strolled through the gate. It was totally fine! All I had to deal with were like. Guards and stuff. My theory was right!”

“But _why?” _Dani said softly.

Her hands twitched at her sides, as if she was resisting the urge to grab Aubrey and hug her. Aubrey leaned in, looping an arm around her waist. “I just wanted to be sure,” she said, “that we were on the right track. With Heathcliff’s bounty and everything, y’know?”

Dani swallowed. “And are we?”

“Well, we don’t have to look for the necklace anymore,” Aubrey sighed, hugging her stomach. Saying those words sent a strange relief through her. It wasn’t the same necklace, not at all, but… every time it got brought up, it was like a blanket of anxiety had drifted onto her like volcanic ash. Smothering. Cold. 

They’d never found her mom’s old necklace. When the fire department and police combed the burn site for… remains, they’d never found the necklace in the ashes. Not even the safe where they’d put it, the night before the fire - but then again, that had been hanging open like a gaping mouth when the police had come. Something cold sank into her chest, like freezing water behind her ribs. The police never found it. Or her. She’d left her hometown right after the funeral, afraid that they’d try to arrest her for - for killing her mom - and Stern said the police might have been looking for her again -

A warm hand landed on her elbow. Aubrey snapped back, and found herself staring right into Dani’s warm brown eyes. Dani squeezed her elbow gently; Aubrey realized that she was still shivering, still cold. 

“So Heathcliff said we didn’t have to look for it?” Dani repeated. Slow, deliberate, so Aubrey could focus on her words. Aubrey leaned forward and put her head on Dani’s shoulder. “We don’t… we don’t have to worry ‘bout anything they’re workin’ on over there?”

Aubrey thought, inexplicably, of Vincent’s victory dance in the courtyard. The way that colorless hunk of crystal melded into the main one, like two chunks of ice squeezed together in someone’s hand. “Well,” she said. “Not… not exactly. That’s what I was gonna tell you all about, ‘cause when I went over there? I saw some shit.”

Jake had been silent for a very long time, and his sudden voice made both of them jump. “But you went back,” he said.

Aubrey turned around. Jake’s empty hands rested on the table, as if he was bracing himself. “You went back, and you didn’t get hurt,” he said softly, staring at Aubrey. “The gate didn’t - you weren’t stopped? You just… went?” His voice cracked on the last word. There was a betrayed, pained look in his eyes that Aubrey had never seen. Never on the surface - not before they killed the Ashminder. Hadn’t he been exiled, years and years ago? 

_We can’t go back. We’ve got to give this time. _

“Yeah,” Aubrey whispered. “I’m sorry, I -”

Jake stood up and left the dining room. Dani tried to catch his sleeve as he left, saying, “Jake, wait -” but he brushed her off, and was gone. 

“Give him a minute,” Dani said softly, lacing her fingers through Aubrey’s. “He - we can go talk to him later.”

As his door closed upstairs, Aubrey heard raised voices from across the Lodge, near Mama’s office. “Would you _mind?”_ someone snapped. 

For a moment, the unfamiliar voice made Aubrey go on high alert, fingertips tingling; she dove out of the dining room, her hand slipping out of Dani’s, and peered down the hall. Then she realized who the voice belonged to. Boyd Mosche was standing by the doorway to Agent Stern’s room, leaning on the closed door. “I’m just saying, it might be in there,” he said through the closed door. He shifted his weight a bit, visibly wincing. “Just let me in to see it, I’m not asking you to move out or anything -”

The door swung open. Stern’s head popped out; he looked disheveled and uncomfortable, as if he’d been sitting at his desk for a very long time. “I’m working,” he said flatly. “I’m not comfortable with you snooping through here while I’ve got my back turned.”

“Oh, come on -”

Aubrey leaned in. “What’s going on with them?” she whispered.

Dani grimaced. “Mama put Stern in Boyd’s old room when he came to stay,” she said quietly. “And we all - y’know, we didn’t expect Boyd to come back, ‘n all, so… Mama just boxed all his stuff up and left it in the closet.” She paused. “I guess Boyd’s still lookin’ for the bounty, but I don’t think he’s got a necklace in his stuff - he’s had his crystal on some kind of bracelet as long as I’ve known him.”

“How come Stern’s not letting him in, though?”

“They’re like oil and water,” said Evelyn. She still held her magazine, riffling the pages absentmindedly with her thumb. “You should’ve seen ‘em last night, when Boyd came back - hoo, boy, they do _not_ get along. I don’t know much about that agent fella, but he’s a man of the law livin’ in Boyd’s old room and not giving ground. And Boyd’s a fugitive with a possessive streak a mile wide.” Evelyn shrugged. “They’re not gonna mix well.”

“Boyd seemed kinda nice when I talked to him,” Aubrey said reluctantly.

“And he is nice,” Dani said. “And - well, so’s Stern, in his own way. It took a long time for folks to warm up to Boyd, and it’s still takin’ time for everyone else to like Stern.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her sister; Dani shook her head once, just barely. “I guess they’re just gonna have to… sort it out on their own terms, I dunno.”

Headlights flashed through the window; tires crunched on the asphalt outside. The sound was almost immediately drowned out by Stern and Boyd’s raised voices. “Well, if you don’t want me to go through your stuff, I won’t!” Boyd said indignantly.

“It’s my closet!”

“It’s _my _boxed-up stuff! I’ll only be a minute!”

“If you’re digging through the closet,” Stern said firmly, “you’ll have to promise to leave my shit alone. I’ll watch you.”

The Lodge’s front door creaked open. Aubrey glanced over her shoulder and saw Barclay and Ned walk through, Barclay first. Ned seemed like he was hiding behind Barclay, waiting for him to forge a path; his hands were jammed in his pockets, and his eyes were fixed on the back of Barclay’s head. As the door closed, Boyd glanced away and saw Barclay; his face brightened, and he gave Barclay a polite wave.

He hadn’t seen Ned yet. Dani gave her an apprehensive look.

“So? You’re fine with me watching, as you go through the closet?”

The kind look on Boyd’s face evaporated; he glared at Stern. “I’d rather you not,” he said coldly. “It’s my stuff, I don’t need you snooping over my shoulder. Even if that’s what your kind does best.”

Stern lifted his chin. “Then if I can’t watch, it’s off,” he said. “That’s final. I have things to do and I don’t have time -”

“So, Boyd.” 

Ned’s voice sliced through the room like a knife. Both Boyd and Stern froze and stared at him. “Getting on someone else’s nerves already?” he said. He stood slightly behind Barclay, jaw clenched and arms crossed. She’d never heard the jovial old man sound so… angry. It was like listening to her father yelling at someone, but Ned’s voice was purely conversational, which made it so, so much worse. 

And Boyd, he… changed, too. He stopped slouching against the doorframe; there was something different in his face than what he’d been showing Stern, something surprised. Aghast. Or even regretful; his jaw had dropped in stunned silence. 

But then he changed again, in a way that sent an uneasy chill through her. He stood tall and threatening, lifting his chin. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Ned,” he said softly. His voice was smooth, oily, cold. None of the vitriol and sarcasm he’d shown Stern was there. It was as if he was a different person entirely. “You - what are you doing here?”

Stern’s eyes were fixed on Boyd. His lips were parted slightly. Seemed like he’d never seen this side of him either.

“Why, I live here, Mosche,” Ned said. His voice sent a nauseous shiver through Aubrey; she took a step back. “In Kepler. Had to end up somewhere, after… everything.” His voice lingered on the word, drawn-out and sour. 

Boyd’s eyes narrowed. “Well, what a wonderful, _wonderful_ coincidence,” he snarled. “Surprised you made it here, of all places, after… everything.”

Ned’s hands clenched into fists. Dani exhaled, giving Evelyn a pleading look. Evelyn just stared back with a panicked look in her eyes. None of them had expected this to happen - least of all Evelyn, who barely even knew who Ned was. She’d only been back for two weeks. Aubrey glanced between the two men and felt the strange urge to run away. They looked like they each had guns pointed at each other, and didn’t care what they’d hit when they pulled the trigger.

Then Barclay said softly, “Are we really gonna do this?”

Boyd and Ned both glared at him, but he glared right back. There was a faint nervous flicker in his eyes, and Aubrey couldn’t blame him - Boyd Mosche looked downright scary right now, and Barclay was one of the most non-confrontational folks she’d ever met. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m here because I thought we were gonna have a chat about the end of the world. Or somethin’. I don’t wanna downplay anythin’ that’s goin’ on between you two, but… is this really what you’re gonna do, Boyd? Seriously?”

“You don’t know, Barclay, do you,” Boyd said. “Bless your fucking heart, Barclay, you really don’t know.”

“Well, I do know you hate him. But hey, Stern’s investigating whether or not I exist and I’m not jumping down his throat every chance I get. No offense, Stern,” Barclay said hastily, lifting both hands. Stern shrugged, but Aubrey saw him look at the floor and retreat slightly into his room. She felt a little bad for him; those were strong words, especially from Barclay. “I wouldn’t - I just - y’know? There’s a time and place, Boyd, and this don’t really seem like it.”

The door to Mama’s office swung open; the woman herself came out, leaning against the doorframe. Barclay fell silent and looked at her thankfully. “He’s right,” Mama said, giving him a nod. “We’ve got other things to do.”

“Mama, great,” Ned sighed. A bit of his slick confidence came back; he gave her a broad smile, nervously rubbing his hands together. “Good to see you. Now - are we gonna have this meeting soon, so I can head back home?”

“What we’re gonna do,” Mama said, “is we’re gonna try ‘n be civil to each other.” 

Boyd visibly bristled, opening his mouth, but Mama held up a hand. “We’ve got work to do here, Boyd,” she said gently. “I… understand that things are tense between y’all, but we’re comin’ up on dark times. We’ve got to work together. We can’t bring this kind of stuff to the table right now.”

Boyd sighed sharply and looked away. He said nothing.

“Boyd.”

He said, not looking at her, “Are you taking his side?”

“I’m not takin’ any sides. We’re all on the same side here.” Mama looked at Ned, who straightened up a bit, still wringing his hands. “Like it or not. This goes for you, too, Ned Chicane. I don’t know what’s goin’ on between you two, but if - if you need help with what’s goin’ on, you can talk to me about it. That’s what I’m here for. Alright?”

Ned muttered something and looked at the floor. Boyd stayed silent.

Mama sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. “We’ll handle this later,” she said. “For now, Ned? Barclay? We’re makin’ moves and tryin’ to figure out what to do with Heathcliff’s bounty, and you haven’ t been there for any of it. Let’s get you caught up.” 

She glanced to her right, where the door to the basement had swung open; Indrid leaned against the doorframe, face inscrutably blank. His lanky, crooked frame took up almost the entire space. As Duck and Vanessa came up the stairs behind him - Duck saw Aubrey and waved, and she waved back - Mama asked them, “Find anything?”

Indrid shook his head. “We thought we might have something with Bridget’s mace,” he said, “but she must’ve taken it west with her.” Mama nodded, her face darkening; Aubrey wondered who exactly Bridget was. “We may be out of options for now, unless…”

He scanned the room. His eyes landed on Aubrey; she felt like a tank’s gun had locked onto her, ready to fire. “Unless you have an answer for us,” he said, “and - sorry to force your hand, Aubrey, but I think you do.”

Right. Visions. Fuck. Everyone turned to look at her; she squirmed. “Yeah, uh,” she said. “This is… good timing, I guess, because I did a little bit of field research! We’ll call it field research.”

“She went to Sylvain,” said a voice from above. Jake was leaning on the banister, staring down at them all. There was a strange coldness in his eyes, but it was the coldness of rotten ice: ready to shatter under pressure, warm and soft as ice could be. “She just got back.” 

A panicked hush rose around Aubrey. “Wait, you went _back_ to Sylvain?” Indrid said incredulously. “No wonder I couldn’t see you. But how’d you get there? Is - it’s not a full moon, the sun’s out -”

“I just…” Aubrey waved a hand. “Strolled through, y’know?”

Silence. Every single Sylph in the room stared at her. There was something concerned and afraid in their faces that made Aubrey feel guilty. She sighed and sat down on the arm of the nearby armchair. “I just - the gate didn’t do anything to me when we went through yesterday, and I was kinda -” She sighed sharply. “Y’all were real busy, and I just wanted to do somethin’ to help,” she said, spreading her hands helplessly. “So I went back, and… got a hold of Heathcliff, and I figured some things out.”

“Like what?” Duck’s voice was quiet and uncertain. “Did he give you anything?” he said. “We get an answer, or did he just give you more bullshit riddles?”

Aubrey laughed once. “Mostly bullshit riddles,” she admitted. “But I did ask him point-blank whether he wanted a Sylvan crystal someone here owns. And he doesn’t.” 

A collective sigh of relief rang through the Lodge. "Y'all thought he wanted a _crystal?" _Barclay said incredulously. "Good grief, I'm glad he didn't, that'd be… that'd be bad." Mama looked pensive, and Boyd and Vanessa - lingering behind Duck in the basement doorway - gave each other silently relieved looks. Boyd was the first to break eye contact with Vanessa, looking awkwardly at the ground. The tips of Evelyn’s ears turned pink, and she turned her crystal over in her fingers. 

Duck threw his hands up. “Spectacular,” he sighed. “Fuckin’ great! Guess we didn’t have to spend three hours looking for the damn thing, did we? Why’d he want it in the first fuckin’ place?”

“He’s still being cagey about it, and I doubt he’s ever going to give us a straight answer,” Aubrey admitted. “He’s - I dunno, he kind of expected us to go along with it without asking any questions, like we’d been doing in the past, but -”

“Oh, he’s still doing his magical vending machine act?” Boyd said. “You love to see it. How charming.” He sounded genuine, though; nobody questioned it. “But what did he want with _us?”_

“Just to extort the bounty from us, didn’t you hear?” Ned said under his breath. Mama gave him a weary look.

“I... don’t think it matters what he wants,” Aubrey said in a small voice. The necklace in Evelyn’s hands glinted; she looked away. Barclay’s leapt at her from the shadows. She closed her eyes. Silence fell, broken only by the creaking floorboards and rustling clothes of the people around her. She felt Dani’s hand resting on her shoulder, gently squeezing.

“When I was there,” she said softly, into the silence. “I… walked past the airship.”

Silence. Then Aubrey heard Stern say, “Hey, what -?” and falter. She opened her eyes, in time to see Boyd enter yank open a door across the hall from Stern’s. The door slammed shut; everyone winced. Stern stared at the closed door. “Is he okay?” he asked Mama, bewildered.

Mama’s face had turned grim and stormy. She didn’t answer Aubrey for a long time - just stared down the hallway, shaking her head. “Give him a minute. I’ll check in on him later.”

Aubrey’s heart ached for Mama; it sounded like she was going to be doing an awful lot of talking, over the next few days. “He - I - okay. But the airship… apparently it had a big ol’ hunk of crystal in it.” 

Vanessa breathed in sharply. 

“And they took it out, and just…” Aubrey pushed an imaginary object in front of her. “Stuck it on the crystal in the courtyard, and it fused together. And I think it did something.”

“I’d say it did, yes,” Indrid said. He lifted his crystal out of his shirt, fingers tangling in his necklaces’ chains. Aubrey stared; his crystal glowed orange again, more like diluted orange juice than a neon light, but still. It was glowing. He looked healthier, too - his hair was less disheveled and feathery, and there was no strange shape to his jaw that, now that Aubrey thought about it, looked perfectly shaped to make room for mandibles. His disguise was working again. “About fifteen minutes ago, this started glowing again.”

Aubrey’s stomach flipped. “That’s about when they put the crystal back in,” she said, feeling a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. “That - oh my God. It really did work, Vincent’s gonna be so happy to hear -”

“And this is the airship that almost crushed us to death last night, right?” Barclay said. He leaned on the back of the couch, frowning. “We don’t even know where it came from. Like - it’s all good, that they were able to use it to fix stuff, but… How do we know it’s not gonna backfire on us?”

“Did it have any insignia or markings that you could see?” Vanessa cut in.

“Yeah - it had a name on the side, it said _Sanctuary_ in big white letters. And there was something that kinda looked like Sylvain’s… coat of - coat of arms? Is that what it is?” Aubrey glanced around the room; everyone shrugged. “I dunno. Insignia, whatever - it looked like that, but instead of the crystal in the middle of the four stars, there was a big orange tree."

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Vanessa nodded slowly, arms folded across her stomach, and stared at a point on the coffee table. She seemed lost in thought. “So what I’m thinkin’ is… there’s - Heathcliff thinks he’s got a solution, but I dunno - what Vincent did has so much more potential. There’s probably other crystals like that out there. They keep telling us that folks broke off chunks of the crystal and brought ‘em here. It’s a long shot, but do you think -”

“- there are crystals on Earth?” Indrid finished with her. 

His voice was soft, bewildered. He sounded as if he’d considered something like this before, but was being reminded of it after leaving it alone for a long, long time. And he didn’t seem completely pleased with the reminder. There was a long, thick silence - a somber one, that crackled like static in Aubrey’s ears, and she wanted to cower from it.

Then Stern said hesitantly, “It could work.”

Everyone stared at him. He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, we could - I don’t know how much we can figure out here, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” he said awkwardly. “It’s worth considering.”

Mama took a deep breath, sighed - and nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I gotta say, I have to agree.”

“That’s the best option I’ve heard since joinin’ up with the Pine Guard, not gonna lie,” Duck admitted. “I mean - whatever we’ve got, we should give it a try.”

Aubrey felt a soft flicker of pride. For the first time, maybe they’d have a plan. A real plan. The older members of the Lodge seemed like they wanted nothing more than to break away and start hypothesizing; Indrid and Vanessa descended into a tense, whispered conversation, which Duck was trying to listen to. The poor guy looked completely lost. On the other end of the room, Stern seemed like he wanted to vanish, edging awkwardly down the hall back to his room. After he’d vouched for Aubrey’s plan, it seemed as if he wanted to be part of the conversation, but didn’t know what to say or how. 

Then Barclay spoke up, and the talking died down. Stern came back out of the hallway. “What… what even was Heathcliff’s bounty, this time?” he said, frowning. “We might still be able to complete it, if it’s somethin’ he needs real bad. I know I wouldn’t mind doin’ him a favor, he’s a good guy.”

Aubrey took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Before she could answer him, Indrid spoke up. “The letter said, ‘crystal fire on a silver chain,’” he announced. “You can see why our mind went straight to a necklace, like mine; it’s the most explicit visual connection. But if it’s not a necklace like this -” he picked up his own necklace, the silver chain filtering through his thin fingers “- then… no idea what, exactly, he’s going for.”

“Interesting,” Ned commented. “That’s... really odd.” Aubrey glanced over at him. His voice sounded a bit strained, softer than usual. Something about the look on his face…

Ned looked down, and the moment was gone. But for a troubling, grim fraction of a second, Aubrey thought he seemed afraid.

* * *

Hours later, the Cryptonomica was closed down for the night. The door to the inner sanctum clicked open. “Ned, hon?”

Barclay’s voice made Ned jump. He edged in front of the open safe. “Mm? Yes?”

Barclay stuck his head in. “I’m gonna turn in,” he said. “You gonna come to bed? Or are you gonna stand there all night?”

There was a smile in his voice that made Ned’s chest hurt. He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll - I’ll be out in a bit. Just double-checkin’ locks and stuff.”

“Alright, take your time.” The door creaked shut. 

Ned took a deep breath, so deep his ribs hurt, and stared dejectedly into the safe. Inside: several battered ballistic vests, a stack of fake IDs, and - tucked between the IDs and a couple stacks of hundreds - a silver necklace with a huge, elegantly-carved orange pendant hanging from it. If he watched long enough, it seemed to glow in the inner sanctum’s light, pulsing like a beating heart. Ned stared balefully into the safe one last time and pushed it shut; its tumblers clanked into place, sounding heavy and final as a jail cell locking.

He had that necklace, still. After all these years. He’d thought of selling it, once upon a time, but a sense of guilt that never went away made him keep it, tucked away in the far corner of the safe. 

What was stopping him from giving it back?

At the heart of it, lying in bed that night, Ned knew it was because he was terrified. Too many uncertainties, too many cold truths and liminal spaces. So many things could go wrong. Barclay snored softly next to him; Ned turned over, back facing him, and stared into the shadows of their room. Fucking hell, this was a godawful choice he was faced with. Occam’s Fork, Morton’s Razor, whatever the hell - he had a choice to make, and it wouldn’t turn out good either way. 

That necklace in his safe was an exact match to what Heathcliff wanted. 

It fit all the markers. Crystal fire on a silver chain - the orange pendant and fine silver chain were a perfect match. He weighed the choices. They all sucked. If he gave the necklace to Heathcliff, everyone would wonder why he had it - and then Aubrey would know he’d stolen it. So he was fucked if he did that. But if he gave it straight to Aubrey… she might not want to give it to Heathcliff, since it was her mother’s -

Dread rippled through his body. He tugged the blankets closer, as if shielding himself. _Fuck,_ he thought. It was her mother’s necklace. It was her _mother’s. _He remembered every word from that conversation in the hospital room; it was burned into his brain, and every second of it made his heart hurt.

That necklace was the last sign that Aubrey’s mother had ever existed. And Heathcliff thought that it could save the world.

Something in his chest withered even more. There was a choice to be made here, and Ned was always bad with choices - always looking for the either-or, always trying to find a third option. But this was an absolute. Either the memory of Aubrey’s mother - or the lives of an entire planet. One or the other. Giving it to Heathcliff was like making that choice… but if he gave it to Aubrey, _she _would have to make that choice. 

Oh, Christ. He couldn’t put her through that; she’d suffered enough, no thanks to him. He couldn’t make her choose between her mom or an entire world, a world that Ned knew she loved as much as Earth. Ned couldn’t lay that on her, not yet.

Not until he knew that Heathcliff didn’t want it. He’d keep it for now, until they had a more definite answer. God, he hated this, but it was the best way.

Cloth rustled; the mattress dipped. He heard Barclay sigh and say sleepily, “You still up?”

Ned froze. “No,” he said. Barclay chuckled softly. “Ah, shit. You got me.”

“You doin’ okay?”

Ned swallowed. “I… I will be.”

The mattress dipped again, and the blankets lifted a bit; displaced air rushed in, like a summer mountain breeze. Barclay rolled over and draped an arm over Ned’s body, pulling him close. “I’m sorry about today,” he said quietly. His breath tickled the back of Ned’s neck. “It’s gonna get better, I promise.”

“Brave words,” Ned muttered

“Then I’ll make it better.” 

Ned couldn’t find anything to say. Barclay had no idea. He didn’t know. He’d never wanted to leave the bed and run into the woods more than this moment. He’d told Barclay about his past, and Barclay - kind, sweet, understanding Barclay - had taken it all in stride… but this. Would he ever look at him the same way?

Was there any going back?

“It’s okay. Go to sleep, I’ve got you,” Barclay whispered. Ned felt his throat burn, but he closed his eyes.

That night, he dreamt of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus fucking christ i'm so sorry for not updating in like a month and a half. i've been doing so much writing for college that I haven't been able to sit down and actually do this fucking thing for a While. but rest assured, this story is not going on hiatus. i'm fixing amnesty, one chapter at a time. 
> 
> hope everyone liked this chapter! i'm getting nervous about ned, and i'm a little worried about duck too, but yknow what, it's gonna be cool regardless. i'd like to take a minute to thank my friend corn (duck-duck-juice on tumblr) and my partner indy (crikadelic on tumblr) for listening to me trying to hash out this story's plot, for their wonderful suggestions, and their moral support. and thanks to all of you for reading!!


	11. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: body horror, gore, descriptions of rotting flesh. Starts at "A shadow falls over her; she whips around." and ends at the end of the italicized section.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the following songs:  
\- [ "Derelicts," Keith Power](https://open.spotify.com/track/2rkDLh8BEQCbpyRx2ufbOI?si=gG9hlFg1T2u0nzgiqmLMcg)  
\- ["Chevaliers De Sangreal," Hans Zimmer](https://open.spotify.com/track/64q5EfFKR9hYJ1FHqSClxe?si=aRRr9WVvSBOWU0IxgfLIhg)
> 
> and[the rest of the TCOS playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ?si=IJAbyAM9Qh-JshPVdZCJIQ)

_ Dani, Evelyn, _

_ You have no idea how happy I was to finally get a letter from you. I almost cried. I'm not going to deny it. There's nothing as soul-grinding as writing stacks on stacks on stacks of letters for fifty years, believing that nobody's ever going to read them. Sometimes I wonder why I kept doing it. Maybe part of me knew you were going to see them someday. I can't call myself naive for believing things could be better, because they are, you're reading my letters now, it's all good. It was just... hard. _

_ I guess we have Aubrey to thank, then. I don't want to start anything, but she _

_ Okay, I never got around to finishing this part of the letter; shit got real incredibly fast and I never came back to it. But now's as good a time as any. You're not going to believe this. _

_ I figured it out. _

_ I figured out what was in the _ Sanctuary _ , and why it ended up fusing with the crystal in the courtyard. I hope Aubrey told you about that when she came running back, because if not, sorry for dropping that on you. But they found a massive piece of the Heart of Sylvain inside the airship that crashed, and just... smashed it back on like a piece of clay. I still don't know what the _ Sanctuary _ is, per se, that might be a question for Moira - but I've got most of it, I think. _

_ I'm sending copies of my research along, in case something happens to my stuff on this side. Woodbridge had me pull the data in the first place, but I don't know if he's going to be pleased with what I show him. Mom doesn't trust him. Neither does Vincent; the two have been yelling at each other for months. Alexandra trusts him a little too much, and I'm worried about her, but I trust her a lot more than I could ever trust Woodbridge. _

_ And, of course, I trust you. And I trust the folks you're staying with. They sound nice, from the little you've told me. _

_ Things aren't quite as bad as they could be, honestly. I don't know if they're going to get worse, but at least they can get better, if my research is anything. I don't know. I still have your letters. I've read through them at least three or four times; I've got them tucked inside my journal, and I see them whenever I take notes. _

_ Forget what I was going to say about Aubrey. She's not so bad, after all. _

_ I miss you both. _

_ Love, _

_ Fabian _

_ P.S.: Dani, thanks for telling me all about Aubrey's rabbit. He sounds lovely. Can you give him a scratch on the head for me? _

_ P.P.S.: Evelyn, who the hell is Boyd, and how did he save your life? Tell me everything you can. _

* * *

When she found him, he was waiting for the ink to dry on some sheets of paper, tucked away in the Archives like the books he spent so much time studying. Alexandra tiptoed along the shelves and slowly reached for him, with bated breath. He didn't even notice her hand until she poked him in the forehead.

Fabian flinched so hard that ink went everywhere, soaking the corners of his paper. "Hey!" he yelped, almost falling off his chair. Alexandra stifled a weak giggle. "You - oh, for crying out loud, _ Alexandra -" _

"Got you," she said sheepishly. Fabian tried to look disapproving, but all he did was make her laugh; she'd seen far more intimidating glares from Janelle. "You busy?"

"No, I'm - kinda just wrapping things up, here," he said, shuffling papers together. "Wish I could cast a drying spell; this is gonna take ages."

He blew hard on the last sheet, squinting at the drying ink, before scowling and setting it aside on his tiny, tiny desk. It looked like a letter; Alexandra could see his signature and a couple of postscripts. She squinted suspiciously. "What're you writing, anyway?"

Fabian's cheeks darkened a bit. "A letter," he said.

"To who?"

Fabian rearranged the papers again, setting them face-down. "Someone." He grimaced at her. Alexandra took a minute to realize it was an uncomfortable smile. "Y'know. I'm trying to - just write something every day." He swallowed. "In case I get to see my sisters again. I'll give it to them."

He wrung his hands, twisting his quill in his fingers. Alexandra shrugged. She almost said, "I hope you don't see them again," but stopped herself. That was far from the right thing to say. But it was true. The only way he'd be able to see them is if he got exiled to Earth; the exiles weren't allowed back in. It was the law. She didn't want him to leave. Alexandra just swallowed and said, "It's fine. I think you'll see your sisters again."

"If all goes well."

"Sure."

Neither of them knew what that meant: if it all goes well. Alexandra took in the ink smudging his cheek, the dark circles under his eyes. He was just a bit older than her, and yet… they were making him do so much. Perhaps everything was out of their hands, but it was certainly on their shoulders. “Have you had any luck?” she said softly. 

“With what?”

“Researching. Whatever Woodbridge’s got you doing.”

Fabian swallowed. “It’s been… it’s been rough,” he admitted, voice strangely subdued. “The Archives are getting more legible by the day, which helps, but… Alexandra, did you know any of this?”

“I was - no? I didn’t -”

“About the ships, the crystal, what our people did to it -” Fabian’s voice shook slightly, but not with fear or exhaustion. He sounded almost excited. “What _ we _could do to it? Did you know?”

Alexandra shook her head. In a flurry of robes and papers, Fabian leapt to his feet, hand half-raised as he scanned the shelves. He took a step towards a shelf with an empty space on it, fingers wiggling, as if trying to pluck something from thin air. "Thousands of years ago," he said to the shelves. "Well - what I _ think _ is thousands of years ago, because it's only just showing up in the earliest-erased things, which were _ written down _ two thousand years ago, which means it really goes back far, far further than that. They were just rewritten by..." He flailed his arms vaguely. "You know. He rewrote those parts, so they got erased along with everything else."

They still didn't like to say its name. A sickening chill went down her spine: a chill of familiarity. She'd only seen the monster once, in passing a few months ago, but felt as if she'd known it all her life."The old Scribe," Alexandra said quietly. "Your mom told me."

Fabian nodded. "Yeah. Where's... where's the - ah, right, shit."

He dropped to his knees, rummaging through a box under his desk. Alexandra craned her neck to watch. He pulled out a book, rummaged through the pages, and thrust it at her. On the page was a familiar sight: the castle she’d grown up in, its towers and parapets and rounded walls, etched by hand in ancient, faded ink. But there was no crystal in the courtyard.

Instead, there was a giant pale tree. Taller than Heathcliff. Taller than the castle’s highest tower. Taller than the city’s walls. Nearly as tall as the crashed _ Sanctuary _was long. Branching, gnarled, twisting up and up, opening towards the sky like a great opening flower - and translucent, if the drawing was anything to go by.

Alexandra stared at Fabian. He grinned at her, eyes feverish. “The crystal used to _ grow,” _ he whispered. “Literally, grow. And when people took off pieces of it, it would grow _ back.” _

Something told Alexandra she was supposed to be happy. Some part of her felt giddy with awe and a faint flicker of hope, but that part of her was very, very small. Her father's ring was incredibly cold on her finger. "But - if it did, why hasn't it started growing back?"

Fabian's smile faltered. "Well... I don't know," he admitted. "I have to keep looking that up. It might be because Sylvain's no longer... here, anymore. But this -" He tapped the book again and shut it with a _ snap. _ "This was a pre-war book on shipping routes. And in it was a list of cities, all over Sylvain. Did you know that? We used to live all over the whole planet, not just in this city. Folks would go out there," he said, gesturing in the general direction of the crystal, "break chunks off, and take them with them when they founded a new city." He grinned again. "And there'd be a new Heart of Sylvain. On the other side of the world. All over the place. There were _ hundreds _of them."

Alexandra's stomach lurched strangely. "Wow," she whispered.

"And I think -" Fabian took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "I don't know," he said softly. "I don't know how long the gate's been open."

"I thought it had always been open," Alexandra said, frowning. "And it just moved around, for millions of years, and _ things _from Earth would just keep coming over."

Fabian gave her a strange look. "Maybe they have, I don't know," he said. "But people have been leaving Sylvain for as long as the gate's been around. Leaving, coming back even, when the laws were less strict. Vincent told me about Vanessa, his predecessor - how she left after the crystal broke, hung around on Earth for fifty of their years, came back, and then left for good. It happens. But I think... I don't know."

"Maybe you do," Alexandra said, gently shoving him in the shoulder. "When we were little, I used to think you knew everything."

"Even Mom doesn't know everything," Fabian said quietly, almost absentmindedly. "She'd know more about this than I do, but... folks who left Sylvain, maybe they did the same thing. Took pieces of the crystal to Earth and left them there. And if the stories of the war are true, humans took pieces of Sylvain with them, too."

The nausea came raging back, and with it came something new: a seething, boiling rage, indignant and proud. Alexandra’s lip curled; her hands clenched into fists in her lap. “Alexandra? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said curtly. “I just -” The words stuck in her throat. That rage thudded in her chest, a fury so white-hot she was surprised to find how cold the ring on her ringer was. “To Earth? How _ dare _they.”

“Alexandra, please,” Fabian said. “I’m - I’m sorry I brought it up, I’m just saying -”

"You didn't have to," she said curtly. She took a deep breath and strode away. Fabian called something after her, voice shaking, but she was already up the Archive stairs and too far away to hear him. All she could do was run, that same indignant anger making her eyes sting with tears.

Her hand ached. It wasn't until she looked at it that she realized her ring had dug into her fingers. An angry red mark was slashed across her palm. As she stared at it, the world slammed into place, like pieces of a stage set falling from the sky. Alexandra flinched as the dark sky pressed down on her. The grey and solemn flagstones, the withered brown grass, and the crystal itself crashed into her world. It towered over her.

She hadn't even realized she'd gotten outside. How did she get here?

A strange fear fluttered in Alexandra's gut; she clenched her fists, trying to slow her breathing. She stared up at the crystal. It was so jagged, so crude. She imagined it feathering across the sky in glowing orange branches, high as the clouds, and something almost hopeful fluttered in her chest. That feeling disappeared as fast as it came.

The ring on her finger was cold. Always cold. 

A soft, soothing buzz swept through her body. "What am I doing here?" she said softly.

The voice, as always when she asked a question, took a long time to answer - as if drawing up its words from a deep well, the rope cracking and buckling with ice. A comforting weight seemed to drape across her shoulders, like an arm. It reminded her of her father. _ You came here because Fabian upset you, _ it whispered. _ You were running. _ It paused; the ring on her hand grew even colder, and she almost wanted to take it off, but it was her father's ring. She didn't want to.

_ Will you keep going? _

The crystal seemed to lean forward. Alexandra felt judged by it, as if the crystal would fall and crush her, without malice or hesitation. She hadn't felt this way since her father died. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she noticed the guards - no less than fifteen of them, Vincent had increased security around the crystal again - drifting towards her. They were shouting things that sounded vaguely concerned. 

_ Alexandra? _

"No," she said in a small voice. She stepped away from the crystal. "I - I think I'm going to take a nap."

* * *

_ She walks to the Broken Bridge. It once led from the city to the wasteland, pointing east. It broke in half lengthwise, a long time ago; it tapers to a fine point on the opposite end of the chasm like an accusing finger, or a crooked tooth hooked too deep in something hard to chew. She places her hands on the railing, stands on tiptoe, and peers over the edge. _

_ The chasm drops down for an unsettlingly long distance. She can almost believe it doesn't actually end. If she fell, she would fall for a very long time. _

Are you really going out there?

_ The voice sounds almost worried, but in a distant way, like a parent watching a child that isn't theirs wreak havoc in a nearby shop. "I just need some fresh air," she croaks. "Where nobody can find me. Just for a minute." _

_ She tiptoes onto the bridge, treading carefully; the supports have been broken for centuries. The Quell's thick black mist seems to swirl and solidify under the bridge, pushing upwards like bile. Again, that comforting weight on her shoulders. She swallows and keeps going, feeling as if that weight isn't just resting there. It is pushing her. _

Keep going. Follow the road.

_ Alexandra walks on, down the remnants of a broken stone highway. Each stone in it is as big as she is, cracked and splintered like drought-stricken soil. She walks forever; she walks for mere seconds. She can't tell anymore. After a while, a massive shape towers next to her, sloping up and out like the side of a mountain. _

_ It isn't until the mist parts that she realizes: it isn't a mountain. There are no mountains east of Sylvain. _

_ It is another crashed airship. _

_ It isn't like the one that hit the city. This one lays on its back, belly turned to the sky, like a desiccated whale on the beaches of the Sundering Sea. Wind howls through its metal ribs, through the supporting struts of thousands of rooms. Like an empty honeycomb. It must have been built for beings of all shapes, all sizes - strange, fragile, living cargo. _

_ In the twisted metal is a familiar sight. A large hunk of crystal, murky and grey, juts from the remains of picked-apart machinery. Cables cling to it like a spiderweb. Alexandra feels a tug towards it, and a strange itching in her fingers - her fists clench, as if crushing something invisible. She's never - _

_ She's never wanted to destroy something more in her life. _

_ She takes another step towards it, and the ground shakes. A shadow falls over her; she whips around. _

_ A binicorn stands behind her - but something is terribly, terribly wrong with it. It's far taller than one should be, like two stacked on top of each other; its body ripples with rotting muscle, bulging in bizarre knots and lumps where muscles shouldn't be. Its teeth are all sharp, jutting out at cruel angles; its twin horns and its mouth drip black ichor. It looks like a shard of bone is protruding from its cheek; Alexandra realizes it's another horn, half-formed and jutting from its face. _ _ And shadows shift on either side of it. Alexandra shudders and takes a step back. Instead of the average binicorn's eight legs, four on each side, this one has ten - but only six touch the ground. Four of them are atrophied, twitching, horrible things, protruding from its misshapen shoulders as if they aren't quite done growing yet. _

_ The Quell changes things in the wasteland. The ring on her hand is still cold. _

_ Then the binicorn shivers, shudders; a strange reddish tinge appears in its empty eye sockets. It opens its terrible mouth - not to eat her, no, but to speak in a horribly deep and guttural voice. "You ran. Why have you left your post?" _

_ Fear makes her legs wobble. "I - I just - I needed to get out," Alexandra says in a small voice, clutching her ring. _

_ "The others can't." The binicorn's head lifts, and it looks through the ship's ribs. Alexandra follows its gaze. Her heart sinks. The mist has lifted. The carcasses of airships litter the wasteland, stretching on and on into the distance. There have to be dozens of them. "Why have you left them?" _

_ "I haven't left them," Alexandra says indignantly. "I'm going back to the city, you know." _

_ "To do nothing. You could save us." There is nothing she can say to that. The binicorn's great head head - as large as Alexandra's entire torso - turns back. The third horn in its cheek glistens. "You could save us from them. Quell, Sylvain, all of us. You could do it." _

_ Alexandra almost asks who "them" is - but unprompted, as if someone is shoving it in front of her, she sees the face of Aubrey Little, tinged around the edges with blue light. Of course. The humans. Alexandra thinks she's supposed to be mad, she wants to feel mad, but in this dream she just feels vaguely queasy. _

_ "You could go to war any time you want," the binicorn rumbles. "Don't they deserve it?" _

_ "Yes," Alexandra breathes. "Yes, they do - they always have -" _

_ Around them, the airship's picked-clean skeleton unfurls around them like a blooming flower, revealing the clouds, hard and strangely brittle above them - like their vapor and particles have frozen in place. The binicorn's empty eyes are hard, cold, unforgiving. "Then all you have to do is look below. Ask for their help. If you're brave enough." _

_ The sky shatters into glowing shards of red. _

_ "Is that so hard?" _

* * *

Alexandra suddenly gasped and flailed, half-sliding off Heathcliff's side. Alarmed, he reached for her, just barely catching her before she hit the ground. "Good grief, Alexandra, are you alright?" he whispered. 

She was so small in his paws, so light; he almost thought he hadn't caught her. The light glanced off her ring. Heathcliff grimaced as the light stabbed into his eyes, setting his teeth on edge. "'M okay," Alexandra murmured, tucking herself against his side again - this time safely on the ground. Her whisper echoed off the walls, spiraling towards the ceiling of the Council chamber. "Was just dreaming."

Heathcliff took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Alexandra's hands shifted; the ring hid itself in the folds of her clothes. "Go back to sleep," he said quietly. "I'm here."

He glanced up. The door to the Council chamber hung open; he could see a tangle of dark hair in the crack, and a hand curled around the door's edge. Fabian, the young scribe, stared at him, face creased with worry. 

Heathcliff silently shook his head. Fabian sighed, shoulders slumping, and closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the Quell-infested binicorn comes from [ this post,](https://owligator.tumblr.com/post/182622626425/this-answer-got-too-long-so-im-just-making-it-its) specifically the "draft" design. 
> 
> A short one but hey, better than nothing. Gonna be trying something new, as we go forward into act two of this story. I've missed writing my kids, and Fabian's got a lot to say in his letters. So every now and then, I'm going to write a little something featuring one of Fabian's letters to his sisters, and dropping back to look at the world of Sylvain a little bit closer. Alexandra is the a central linchpin of a massive machine and she doesn't even know it yet; I want to get into her head a little bit more, just to see what's happening to her. She's got a lot on her shoulders, and I feel bad for what's coming next. Almost.
> 
> Next chapter, the repercussions of the dream are going to hit us harder. It should be coming out sooner rather than later, because I already have it outlined, but my god college is _tough_. Thank you all for sticking with this! I really appreciate it. Until next time!


	12. In The Woods Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:  
\- ["In The Woods Somewhere," Hozier](https://open.spotify.com/track/5LDb4ZwsEAar1EIFd9iTkF?autoplay=true&v=T)  
-["Someone Keeps Moving My Chair," They Might Be Giants](https://open.spotify.com/track/638q39gPCdekT59LnjD4Ob?autoplay=true&v=T)  
-["Stubborn Beast," Bear's Den](https://open.spotify.com/track/3hbhhTuPbQPenmJ10zLkxT?autoplay=true&v=T)  
\- ["Raskas Taival," Lasse Enersen](https://open.spotify.com/track/4QT9wuQgDEEWUe0i7vx9Oj?autoplay=true&v=T)
> 
> and the rest of the [TCOS playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ?si=03Lj6dNgScW76Fu8c0fZZQ)

As always, Amnesty Lodge settled down. Night bled in slowly at the edges of the forest; the sky turned a smudged grey-gold on the heels of the sunset, fading to a dusky blue. Mosquitoes buzzed and dipped. Inside, Dani cursed as Aubrey sprayed her with water, while the two of them helped Jake clean up after dinner.

The hinges creaked as Gary opened the back door to the hot springs. The ground crunched under his shitty foam flip-flops. He grimaced and shooed a mosquito away from his face. Every night at seven thirty sharp, he waded into the hot springs for an hour-long soak, glass of iced tea at his elbow and the sounds of the forest lulling him to sleep. Since the Ashminder attack, this had become a nightly ritual. There was always a faint ache in his limbs and down his spine, like his whole body had become a sore tooth, and most days he could ignore it until - well, until he couldn't. 

The springs always seemed to help release that tension. The waters were almost better than painkillers. He wasn't a Sylph, but damn, soaking in the water felt like it was healing him the longer he stayed. That night, he eased into the water, tea sitting right on the edge. The fresh air made his chest ache; his eyes fluttered shut, and he could feel the cool night breeze in his hair. 

Something tickled the back of his neck. He grimaced, reaching back to touch; his fingers brushed bristling hair. It was getting longer than he usually kept it. Maybe he needed a haircut. The thought made something uneasy settle in Gary's gut, though. He hadn’t gotten a haircut since - since, well, last December, when he was still full-steam-ahead working for the FBI and keeping his image sharp. Maybe it was time for a change. He closed his eyes.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he smelled something strange - something acrid, bitter, like tires were burning a long way off. His eyes just barely drifted open.

Then something cracked in the sky nearby, like a flag whipping in the wind.

Gary's eyes flew open, and he almost slipped underwater. He pulled himself up, coughing. For a moment the entire world was gone. The motion-sensing porch light had turned off; his body felt weightless in the dark. All he could feel was the hot water and the edge of the hot springs as it dug into his neck. He pulled himself up and stared into the woods.

Nothing. Just too-thick silence, creaking branches. The prickling on the back of his neck worsened. That tire-smoke smell crept into his lungs, and cold terror crept along every vein in his body as the shadows flexed. 

Something was watching him. 

Gary hastily grabbed his towel and sloshed out of the hot springs, shivering as the cool night air hit his skin. Pebbles dug into the soles of his feet, and he cursed. The almost-full moon cast the grounds in stark, crisp light; his own shadow twisted strangely on the flagstones, a lurching, shambling thing. They'd left the back door open for him, thank Christ. Gary made sure to lock the door behind him, hands shaking, and draped his towel over his shoulders.

The main room was completely dark. Gary held his breath and listened; it sounded like the whole Lodge was asleep, or at least winding down. He tiptoed down the hall, trying to avoid places where the floorboards creaked. He could see a thread of light under Mama's door, on the other side of the common room, but she was probably the only one awake in the whole place. The clock above the reception desk said it was almost ten.

It was almost too quiet. Gary almost doubled back to make sure he'd actually locked the door, but decided to trust himself. He pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders and tiptoed past the reception desk. Shivering, he reached for his doorknob, but something - or the absence of something - made him pause.

He glanced over his shoulder. Boyd Mosche's door was open - but the room beyond was dead silent.

Gary stared at it. He hadn't seen that door open since Boyd stormed into his room, earlier that night; he'd slammed it shut in the middle of their impromptu Pine Guard meeting, and it was still closed when Gary went to the springs. Now, it hung slightly open - only about six inches or so, wide enough for Dr. Harris Bonkers, say, to hop through, but still open. 

And the man was definitely not there. As Gary had recently learned, Boyd was a bit of a snorer. The silence beyond the door made his skin crawl a bit, and he peered inside. 

He’d never been in here before. Not that he had much of a chance to, in the first place, but it was nothing he expected to find. The room was practically untouched; the bed was extremely rumpled, though, and that ratty old violin case sat at the foot of the mattress. It was as if Boyd lived exclusively on that bed. Gary stared at the case, almost curled on the blanket like a sleeping cat. He remembered how the latches clicked open under his hand, the strange softness of the flaking faux leather, the gentle thrum of the slack strings. What would it sound like now?

He grimaced, looked away. One thing was for sure: the bed was empty. Something cold went down Gary’s spine. After a minute, he realized it was just a water droplet, and draped his towel around his shoulders, but the strange coldness in his chest did not go away.

Had Boyd been the one watching him? 

Gary suppressed a shudder. Jesus, that was an uncomfortable thought - but part of him knew that the feeling of being watched was different, somehow. The air felt like he was breathing exhaust, or something rotten. Not the same energy he got from Boyd. Far from it. The drive to Snowshoe had been a cakewalk, compared to this. Boyd Mosche set his teeth on edge, sure - but compared to that gut-churning, nauseating feeling of being seen by _ something _in the woods... well. Being around that obnoxious man would be positively comforting.

That didn't make the coldness go away, though. A gust of wind swept over the Lodge; the shingles rattled, and branches knocked against the roof. Gary grimaced and ducked out of the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind him. It sank in just how quiet the rest of the Lodge was; there were no voices coming from Mama's office, and he heard the floorboards creak as Jake's bed shifted overhead.

Boyd wasn't here. Where the hell had he gone?

He got his answer the next morning. Gary barely slept that night, and woke to a cloudy sunrise and distant thunder. The air had a strange bite to it, and he shivered; if he didn't know better, he would almost think it was the middle of March. He showered and shambled to the kitchen; there was nobody there, so he automatically started a pot of coffee and turned on the stove. It was an unspoken rule that whoever woke up first in the Lodge made the first pot of coffee, so that honor had fallen to Gary almost every single day. He had it down to a science. Yesterday had been the sole exception in a long, long time; Evelyn and Jane kept even earlier hours than him.

As the coffee brewed, Gary turned on the stove and got ready to make some scrambled eggs. He took his mug out of the dishwasher and looked it over, staring at the chipped rim. Allegedly, it wasn't even his. Boyd had seemed so possessive of that mug the other day. Gary almost felt bad for usurping it, but at this point, it was first-come, first-serve. 

And Boyd hadn't even shown his face yet this morning. Oh, well. His loss. Gary filled the mug and dropped three sugars in, heading for the fridge to grab some half-and-half.

Just as he turned his back to the kitchen window, he heard branches cracking and leaves churning, as if a great gust of wind was tearing through the grounds outside. There was a sound like large pieces of cloth, snapping in the wind, and with a chill Gary remembered the sound he heard before running from the springs.

It sounded almost like - like wings beating.

He stared out the window. The woods were silent for a long time. Then shadows shifted in the trees beyond the hot springs. Gary stared as Boyd Mosche stumbled out of the woods, still wearing yesterday's clothes - no, the exact same clothes he'd shown up in, bloodstained and dirty. He seemed to be fastening a bracelet around his wrist with one hand; he paused right at the tree line and held it in place with his teeth, tying it tightly with his other hand.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Gary muttered, closing the fridge door. He resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. Had he been outside all night? Boyd was just proving himself to be even more of a reckless idiot, every single day.

The man stumbled across the flagstones surrounding the hot springs, hurrying towards the back door. He tried to open it; the knob didn't turn. So Gary really had locked the door that night. Boyd cursed inaudibly and scratched the back of his neck, glancing around the back porch. 

Then he went straight for the kitchen window, climbing over the railing and squeezing between the bushes. He knocked the porch swing with his hip; it bounced into the back wall, and he reached back to stop it. Gary sighed and strode to the back door, tugging it open. "Morning, Mr. Mosche," he said curtly, just as Boyd got his fingers under the window frame.

Boyd flinched away from the window, nearly falling in the bush. "Good grief, where did you come from?" he spluttered.

"I could ask you the same question," Gary said. "Where have you been? You were gone last night."

"Glad to see you missed me," Boyd muttered. He disentangled himself from the bush and climbed over the railing again, onto the porch.

"That's not an answer," Gary said flatly.

Boyd pushed past Gary into the back room, making a show of wiping his feet on the rug. Good grief, he needed a shower; Gary caught a strong whiff of pine sap, among other things, and saw some pine needles stuck in his hair. "Out," was all he said, with a cheeky smirk, before he made a beeline for the kitchen.

Gary hurried after him. "Out doing what?" he said. He stepped on a floorboard and winced as it squealed. He didn't want to wake anyone else up. He lowered his voice. "Thought you weren't allowed to leave without an escort."

"Well, you're not Mama," Boyd said, peering into the fridge. "Or Indrid. I don't have to answer to you. Come along next time if you want, breathe down the back of my neck, watch every move I make." He scoffed, pushing aside Tupperware containers and glaring into the back of the fridge. "Thought I was back home," he said, half to himself, "not in jail."

"I don't think I'll take you up on that offer," Gary said. "You have a scrape on the back of your head, and your hair is full of pine needles. Doesn't sound like my kind of nighttime activity."

"Good, it wasn't an invitation," Boyd said, with cold, forced pleasantness. He leaned against the counter by the sink and spread his arms, taking in the whole room. The whole Lodge. "I just needed a bit of fresh air, y'know?" he said, with a casual smile. "Felt like stretching my wings a bit."

Wings? _ Wings? _ "Stretch your - you were _ flying?" _ Gary hissed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, good God, that's so much worse than I thought." At least that told him Boyd wasn't the thing he'd felt near the hot springs; that presence, whatever it was, was very clearly not airborne. But he'd definitely heard Boyd taking off. And he'd been soaring around all night, doing God knows what -

"What?" Boyd said. "I just thought I'd get a bit of rest and relaxation!"

"And_ I_ thought you had bruised ribs. You could have gotten rest and relaxation in your room, Mr. Mosche, instead of -" Gary gestured at the window. "Y'know, gallivanting around in the sky like a glorified fruit bat. I'm just worried, is all," Gary said. Boyd raised his eyebrows, leaning on the counter by the coffee machine. The intensity in his eyes unnerved him. "I don't want you to get caught."

Boyd scoffed. "Something tells me you're not worried about _ me." _

"I'm not."

"Well, thanks."

"I'm worried," Gary went on, "about someone seeing you, and connecting you to the Lodge. You just used the hot springs as your personal landing strip, in broad daylight. We're on the upper half of the mountain. And I don't know how big your Sylvan form is, but -"

Boyd grinned. It looked more like a snarl. "Oh, plenty big enough," he said.

Gary ignored that. "Big enough for someone to see you from down the mountain?" he challenged. Boyd's lip curled, and he looked away. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I'm just thinking ahead. What if someone came beating down our door looking for you? What if it was a cryptid hunter? What if it was the cops?”

"Yes, yes, fine, alright," Boyd snapped. He threw his hands up. His eyes were hard and cold. "It'd put us in danger. I get it. But you're still here. I think the damage is already done."

A knot of cold rage formed in Gary's stomach. "I'm trying to keep this place safe, Mr. Mosche," he spat. "I've got a responsibility to keep."

Boyd scoffed. "Oh, _ you _have a responsibility? To Amnesty Lodge? That's fucking rich."

"You've got one, too! It’s about time you started keeping it!"

Gary didn’t realize his voice had risen, until Boyd’s eyes narrowed, and the silence slammed into him like a sack of concrete. The air in the room snapped taut with tension. Gary closed his mouth. He felt the urge to back away; the edge of the countertop pressed into his back. There it was: that thread of danger, coiled under Boyd’s skin, coming close to the surface. But this wasn't the same cheeky defiance that Boyd had shown in the car yesterday, no... this was genuine cold rage.

"Alright," Boyd said softly. "I’ll bite. Tell me, then, Agent." No bizarre nickname, nothing. Just a cold softness that made Gary's title sound like a curse. "Have you ever been in a cell? Have you ever been shackled, chained, confined?" One of his eyebrows went up. "Ever had your world crushed down to a six-by-eight foot room, inside a building with no windows?"

Gary just shook his head. The question made the air freeze in his lungs. He didn't know what to say.

"Mm. Thought not." Boyd stepped away from the counter, coming a bit closer. "So you wouldn't know,” he said, voice soft and cutting, “how much this means to me - to be home again, doing things on my terms like I used to. Kepler was my home for _ decades.” _

Gary swallowed. It felt like he could talk again. “Mr. Mosche, you need to keep in mind,” he said, “that it’s a home that needs to be kept safe.”

"I _ know that," _Boyd snapped. "That's why I came back, Agent, don’t you know? I’m keeping this place safe, the only way I know how. After everything I said, you think I'm wrong?"

"I never said -"

"But you were thinking it. Jesus fucking wept, Agent, it won't kill you to just let me _be._" He stepped away from Gary and grabbed his mug - _ the _mug. Gary let out a noise of protest, but Boyd strode away, taking a long sip from it. Jesus Christ, what an ass. He must’ve really just done that for dramatic punctuation. Gary took a deep breath, sighed, and shuffled towards the cabinet to get another mug.

Then he realized: Boyd hadn't left the kitchen. He still felt his presence, lurking. Gary glanced over. The man stood still in the doorway, mug still lifted to his lips. "Is - what did you put in this?" he said softly.

"Arsenic," Gary said flatly. Boyd recoiled. "No. Just three sugars. Would've put cream in, too, if you'd gotten here a few moments too late."

There was a faint flicker of confusion on Boyd's face, and something almost... surprised. Then he scowled, and he strode out of the room faster than necessary. The door creaked shut behind him. Gary listened as Boyd's footsteps faded away, the floorboards squealing under him; another door shut in the distance.

Well, then. Gary grimaced, pouring himself another cup of coffee, his body going on autopilot. A distant alarm went off; he took a deep breath and listened. He heard Jane say something through a yawn, as a door creaked open. Surprisingly, Aubrey was the one who responded - a bit awkward and stammering, as if she didn't expect to be caught in a conversation this early, but Jane just laughed warmly and asked about Dr. Harris Bonkers. Claws clicked on the floor. 

He closed his eyes, listened more. Down the mountain, there were sounds of faint traffic. He could just barely hear the water in the hot springs, lapping the stone edges of the pool. The sounds of the Lodge waking up were like a warm blanket around his shoulders. Every time he heard it stir to life around him, Gary felt like he was home.

Then across the Lodge, a soft, faint note cut through the gentle rush of Kepler waking up. A violin string, ringing out, as Boyd tuned up.

Gary smirked, listening to that soft thread of sound, and went to get some eggs out of the fridge. He could still see that surprise in Boyd’s eyes, followed by a half-embarrassed scowl. Maybe, in the face of all this, he could take some spiteful pleasure in how Boyd liked the coffee, if only by accident.

Ha. Take that, asshole. Gary _ could _do something right, after all.

* * *

When the alarm finally went off, Minerva’s sword was pressed to Duck’s throat.

His eyes flew open; the apartment lurched back into place around him, the ceiling and furniture looming from the shadows. His lungs burned as he gasped for breath, chest heaving. It was as if he hadn't taken a breath in decades. Duck stared at the ceiling for a long, long time. The air tasted like dust.

His hands were still lifted to his neck - shielding himself from that invisible blade. Slowly, fingers aching, he pried them away. Then he covered his face. "Fuck," he said into his hands._ "Fuck." _

He lay there for a long time, trying to get the scene out of his head. They'd been standing in the dark basement, surrounded by weapons - just like when he, Indrid and Vanessa had been searching for Heathcliff's bounty in the dusty weapons lockers. Except it was just the two of them, Minerva's blue figure the only light in the room.

Beyond the door to the panic room, something not human paced back and forth. There were hints of a twisted spine, misshapen spikes, even spare limbs here and there - the shape changed every time Duck's eyes landed on it. The whole while, Minerva was staring at him, and she said, "Duck, what have you done to him?"

She sounded flat, cold, entirely unlike her - as if something had replaced her and was imitating her, but barely had the energy to summon her usual bombastic tones. But that was far from the worst of it. Her voice was... infected with blame. Disapproving, accusing. It sent a wave of bone-chilling nausea through him; it reminded him of the panic he felt when his parents would get mad at him, as a kid, that fear of having fucked up something beyond repair.

"What have you done to him?" she said again, the exact same way. Like a CD skipping over the same words."What have you done -"

"I haven't done anything," he'd said weakly. "I - I swear, Minerva, they found him in Sylvain like this, it's not me -"

"What have you done to him?" she said, voice harsher. "What -"

"Minerva, it's not my fault!" 

Her form flickered. In an instant, she stood in front of him, showing no signs of having moved at all. She held her sword at her side. Duck tried to take a step back, but his feet wouldn't move. Then she said something different. "You've doomed them all," she hissed, lifting her sword. Duck tried to lift his hands, but they wouldn't move - all he could do was stare at Minerva's featureless face, shaking, as she pressed her sword to his throat, and -

The alarm had gone off then. The horrifying, nauseating sense of guilt stayed, though, and made him shiver even now. Minerva's words in the basement bunker had hit him harder than he thought. At least this wasn't a vision. He knew that much for sure; there was no telltale spine-tingling when he woke, no metallic and sour taste in his mouth, like old blood or an ancient piece of silverware. And there was no way that Minerva would try to hurt him, not on purpose. Right?

The alarm clock went off again. Duck smacked it, turning it off for real, and slowly sat up. She clearly knew something about what happened to Thacker, but hadn't had the time to share. Whatever she knew made her think the Lodge had something to do with it.

Fuck. He'd have to talk to her tonight, for sure. Get her side of the story, before she blinked out of sight all over again. They hadn't been giving Thacker much thought lately, but... whatever she had to offer would be a big help. Hopefully nothing would get in the way of them talking this out.

The apartment felt a little realer, more tangible, around him. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. 7:20 already; good fucking grief. He'd be cutting it a little close this morning, but at least he still had time. Duck slid out of bed, careful not to tug the blankets off of Indrid, and shuffled to the kitchen. 

At the foot of the bed, Winnie let out an inquisitive "mrrp?" and lifted her head, eyes bleary. Duck clicked his tongue softly, opening the door. "You want breakfast, Winnie? C'mon," he whispered, walking to the kitchen. Winnie trotted up behind him at lightning speed, rubbing up against his calves.

Duck got dressed and hastily made a pot of coffee; he poured himself a cup and left the pot for Indrid, whenever the guy would get up. Indrid had a late night. The moment they got back from Amnesty Lodge - hell, even while they were still in the car - Indrid had been writing in his journal nonstop. When Duck had gone to bed, he was still scribbling away.

Duck glanced into the bedroom as he made some breakfast, still holding the frying pan full of eggs. Indrid was still passed out cold; he'd slept through both alarms and Duck clattering around. Duck watched as Indrid gathered all the blankets around him, tugging them away from Duck's half of the mattress. Only his nest of silvery hair peeked out. Something fond stirred in Duck's chest.

Then he felt Winnie brush his leg. Duck glanced down and saw Winnie pacing in neat circles under the frying pan, eyes fixed on a bit of egg that dangled off the side. She looked ready to pounce. "No, no you don't," he warned, putting the pan back on the stove. "I just fed you, don't give me that face."

Winnie jumped on the counter, staring at her empty food bowl. "No. That's final. Bother Indrid when he gets up, I know he'll give you somethin'," Duck said to her. He cooked up another batch of eggs and put it in the fridge. Winnie gave him a disapproving huff and settled down on the counter.

Before he left, Duck went to check on him again. Saturday's disaster was still fresh in his mind; he knew Indrid was still feeling the effects, even though his crystal was working again. He got anxious, damn it. It wasn't easy, waking up to see the guy lying still next to him, not breathing and eyes glazed over with red. Duck was surprised he'd been having nightmares about Minerva, and not that. 

The journal sat closed on the nightstand. A pen lay on the ground, half sticking out from under the bed; Duck knelt and picked it up, carefully placing it on top of the journal. He glanced at where Indrid stuck the bookmark. Hm. He'd almost run out of paper in this one. Duck made a mental note to swing by Leo's and grab a couple new ones. 

Indrid stirred in his sleep. Duck stood up, knees protesting a bit, and glanced at the alarm clock. 7:45 on the dot. Making good time. If he didn't think about it, the nightmare was almost a distant memory. "See ya in a bit," he whispered, gently kissing the top of Indrid's head, and headed for the door.

The drive to the ranger station was always nice in the morning, this time of year. He rolled the window down and rested his arm on it. Weekdays were the most lively; every business was opening for the day, and Duck saw a thin trickle of people heading to Kepler's local coffee shop. There was a strange bite to the air that felt out of place for the middle of May, though; the early morning sun was warm on the back of his neck, sure, but the air streaming into the car was almost chilly. 

Duck stopped on the corner of 1st and Hope and took a deep breath. He grimaced. It was like he'd swallowed ice water; he'd expect that cold bite from the air in late September, if anything, but not when they were a couple weeks away from June. And it smelled a bit wack, too, like he'd caught a whiff of a distant tire fire.

Odd. He'd check with Juno once he came in. Maybe she'd noticed something he hadn't.

He didn't bother swinging by the ranger station; as he drove past, he saw that Juno's truck wasn't in the parking lot. She'd probably already headed out to one of their clearings. Duck reached for his radio and turned it on. "Hey, Juno," he said, pulling into the lot and idling in a parking space. His parking job was shitty, but it didn't matter. "Juno, come in. Where're you at right now?"

It took a while for any response; the radio squelched, and he heard a staticky, _ "Duck?" _

"No, it's David Attenborough. Yeah, 'course it's me, who else?"

_ "Wow, listen to you," _ Juno said. _ "Crackin' jokes at 8 in the morning? What's the world comin' to?" _

"Listen, I'll take whatever the fuck I can get," Duck said, and Juno cackled. "Where'd you head out to? Your truck ain't here."

_ "I'm in that clearing out by the Allegheny Trail, just meet me there." _

"Thought we already checked up on that one last Friday -"

_ "Nope - nope, this is the next on the list," _ Juno said. _ "Says it loud 'n clear. We checked up that one out by Resort Row last week, Duck, don't you remember?" _

"I'll take your word for it, sure," Duck said. "See ya in a bit." He put his radio down and pulled out of the parking lot, grimacing as he got an eyeful of morning sunlight. Shoot. He'd forgotten his sunglasses.

He and Juno, along with the other rangers near their station and a handful of forest service interns, had been checking up on patches of endangered plants over the years. All they had to do was make sure they weren't diseased, or getting eaten by bugs, or hadn't been torn up by careless hikers. 

It was real important work, and probably the best part of Duck's forest service job, if he was honest. Keeping the forest healthy was important work, and he was happy to do it. Now that things had been settling down around with the Pine Guard - well, about as settled down as monster hunting and shit could get - Duck was finding himself with a bit more time on his hands. A bit more free headspace.

Hopefully things wouldn't get worse. The gate would open again in just over a month. Duck's fingers tightened on the wheel, and tried not to think about how he'd left Beacon at home today. Nothing was supposed to happen. It was all going to be fine.

He made it to the Allegheny Trailhead and saw Juno's truck, parked just off the side of the road. He pulled in behind her and rooted around in the back for the clipboard of data sheets. The forest wasn't very thick here; he could see the clearing through the tree trunks, about ten meters away, and Juno was wandering around in them, scribbling on a clipboard. Duck hopped out of the truck and hiked over to her, ducking under branches. "Hey, hey!" he called out, raising his clipboard in greeting. "How's it lookin' so far?"

Juno glanced up; her face brightened when she saw them. "Good to see ya," she said. Once she got a good look at Duck's face, though, she grimaced. "Jesus, you look tired. Sounded a lot more chipper on the radio, I'll tell you that - did ya sleep alright, there, Duck?"

Duck shrugged halfheartedly. "I closed my eyes, yeah," he said. Juno gave him a look. "What? I tried. Just had a... rough weekend, y'know?"

Juno grimaced. "God, yeah, tell me about it," she said. "I haven't been sleepin' real well lately, either. Wanna bitch about it while we're writin' this stuff down?"

Duck thought about his nightmare and grimaced. That'd be a tough one to explain away. "Sure, if you want," he said. He stretched, popped his neck, and flipped through the clipboard to a blank page of data sheets. "Where's... ah, shit, d'you have a pen?"

"Nah, sorry. You gotta forage for one yourself." Duck gave Juno a weary look. She rolled her eyes, chuckling, and tossed him the spare pen in her shirt pocket. "Just kiddin', Duck. C'mon, let's get to work."

The two of them looked over the clearing, checking the patches of perennial plants and making sure there weren't any weird molds or out-of-place insects crawling around. "Gotta say," Juno said, looking over a Showy Lady's Slipper orchid. "I'm surprised there aren't as many tire tracks 'round here. Did the Hornets start drivin' around somewhere else?"

Duck shook his head. "Nah, I gave Hollis a talkin'-to a while back. Told 'em to keep their friends in line. Guess they went and put the fear of God in 'em." He sat back on his heels. "Y'know what I saw one day?"

"No, what?"

"One of 'em - I think it was Tim and Cam, actually - they lost control, drove off a trail, tore up a sapling. They were off their bikes and replantin' the thing in five seconds flat."

Juno's eyebrows flew up. "Well, isn't that nice of them!" she said, grinning. "One less thing to worry about." She scratched the back of her neck, leaving a long smudge of dirt there. "Gotta say, the plants around that old greenhouse of there are doin' really well, too."

"Yeah," Duck said. "Hollis..." He saw a couple of ants trundling along, holding a large leaf above their heads, and almost got too distracted to finish his sentence. Look at them go. "Hollis has one hell of a green thumb," he said. "Guess they're passin' that on. Real nice of them."

Juno nodded. "They're a good egg," she said. "They're... yeah, they're alright." 

She looked down at the flowers again, a strange tilt to her mouth. She looked almost troubled, and her eyes were unfocused, as if her mind was somewhere else. Duck shifted and knelt, waving a hand in front of her. "Earth to Juno," he intoned. "Hey, you good?"

Juno grimaced. "Yeah," she said. "I just... I've been thinkin'."

"'Bout what?"

She sighed sharply and stood up, looking around the clearing. "I dunno, remembering the Hornets got me thinking," she said, hands on her hips. "Their neck of the woods is lookin' real healthy, but... the rest ain't doing the best. It's healthy, sure, but... it feels kinda wrong, y'know?"

Duck's stomach lurched a bit.

"Like somethin's... I dunno, it sounds real fuckin' stupid, when I say it," Juno said. She laughed awkwardly. "But it's almost like... there's somethin' out there. Somethin' watching me." She took a deep breath, looking out into the trees. Duck held his breath and listened. It didn't feel like anything was out there, but...

If anything the past eight and a half months had taught him, there was always something out there. Not always something dangerous. But something.

"The feeling was even worse this morning," Juno said quietly. "The air, it - it just felt wrong, y'know? And when I was pickin' up stuff at the station, I kept lookin' around, expecting to see someone standin' right behind me, but there wasn't anyone there." She shivered. "Didn't need any coffee, that shit was enough of a wake-up call as it was."

"Yikes, that's real creepy," Duck said, grimacing. He stood up, wincing as his back twinged a little. "I dunno if it was anythin', but... hoo boy. That's fuckin' awful."

"You're tellin' me," she said sourly. "I've been seein' weird things in the woods, here, for ages. Months, maybe years." Duck's heart skipped a beat. "I dunno if it's just me, but... have you ever noticed anything, Duck? Anything odd, freaky, just out of place?"

Duck took a deep breath, slowly let it out. Hoo boy. Okay. He'd gotten good at fielding questions like this, from campers, interns at the ranger station, even a few of the Hornets. Wasn't getting any better at lying about it, not really, but at least the questions didn't make him an anxious mess. "Uh," he said.

Juno raised an eyebrow. 

"...No, I don't really see much weird stuff," he said. "Nothin' too out of the ordinary."

"Really? I -"

The forest picked that exact moment to let out a wheezing, crumbling creak, as if a massive loaf of bread was being torn in half - or if rotten wood was caving. That chill in the air deepened; that smell, like burning rubber but somehow more organic, got stronger, worming into Duck's lungs. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. A flurry of panicked birds left the trees, soaring up into the air.

Duck and Juno watched them go. "Yeah," he said sheepishly. Jesus, that was a lot of birds. "Like I said, uh... nothin' too weird."

"Duck."

He looked back down. Juno was looking at him, something tired and weary in her eyes. "Listen," she said softly. "I know somethin's been going on."

Duck's blood ran cold.

"We've known each other from the start, Duck, we've lived here all our lives, and I -" Juno sighed, let her hands flop to her sides. "This town ain't right," she said. "Other rangers, you know they don't see the same kind of shit we do. They don't have weird smells, or animal tracks that don't look like anythin' on record outside of Kepler. Things are just off. Animals are sick and dyin' in numbers they shouldn't be, plants are infected with a rot I can't identify yet." 

She flung a hand in the general direction of Mount Kepler. "You've seen it yourself, Duck," she said. "When we were out in that clearing, half a mile out from Amnesty Lodge, last month. Didn't you see the moss? It was fuckin' _ withered, _man, that ain't right."

Duck remembered that. Of course he did. They'd been in the clearing where the gate to Sylvain stood, and Juno had no fucking clue. He’d been sick with nerves the whole time. "Yeah," he croaked. "That, uh... that was real bad."

Juno nodded sharply. "And y'know what else?" she said. "Y'know that thing I told you about, when we were little? When old Thacker was still alive, and we went on one of his old nature tours, and - and I saw something wrong in the woods, somethin' that couldn't have been real - remember that?"

"Yeah -"

"That ain't a one-off case, y'know," she said. "One of the interns, think it was Sasha. Back in January, 'round MLK Day. She said she saw something godawful in the streets one night, somethin' that - I don't know how she described it, but she said it hurt to look at." She paused, then shook her head. "No - her mind felt all fuzzy, and she almost didn't remember seeing it." 

Something cold went down Duck's spine; he fought to keep a straight face. Sasha had seen the Ashminder. And he'd never known.

"Duck, Kepler's in trouble." Juno looked at him, a grim set to her jaw. "You know somethin'. Are you ever gonna bring me in the loop with it, or not?"

And what... what could Duck ever say to that? He sighed and looked away. He couldn't meet Juno's eyes, not without the worst wave of guilt he’d felt today rolling through him. Christ, he wanted nothing more than to tell her the whole truth. Juno was as trustworthy as they came. He knew that better than anyone. But it wasn't his duty to tell her, not without telling Mama first; it wasn't his call. And now, he didn't even know what he'd _ say. _

"I wish I could tell you," he said softly. "I just -"

"I know," Juno said. "I wish you could, too. I know you got your reasons for holdin' things from me. But just so you know..." She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "You can trust me," she said firmly. "Take your time with it, if you gotta, but if you want to tell me, just... just know I'm here for ya. I just want to help."

"Thanks, Juno," Duck said hoarsely.

Juno gave him a lopsided smile. "Hey, no problem," she said. "Kepler's my town too, y'know. We gotta work together."

The two of them looked over the clearing, comparing notes and looking at last year's numbers for a few more hours. Duck could barely focus the whole time. More than once, his writing was crooked, and he had to scratch it out and start over. Juno kept working, diligently writing things down and muttering to herself as she took stock of plants.

She was happy here. She... she had a life for herself, and she was living it well. Duck had no doubt that she could shoulder the burden of Pine Guard duties, but It wasn't just gunning down monsters in the woods, anymore. He thought about that brief panic of thinking Indrid was going to get hurt, about the Sanctuary falling down on them like the sky itself._ What have you done to him? _

The fate of the whole world was in their hands. That was a hell of a thing to be saddled with. Fuck. Nobody knew that better than Duck himself. Something cold and unsettling sank into his chest. Telling Juno the truth was like - it was like _ choosing _her, the way Minerva chose him, to fight with him and follow in his path. He didn't want that fate when Minerva gave it to him. Maybe Juno would, too, but it wasn't his place to decide.

Juno didn't have to live like this. There was no backing out of the Pine Guard. Well - Mama would let you leave, sure, but you would always know. You'd know the truth about things howling at night, about the pools of black ichor on the forest floor, about the strange orange gleam in some people's eyes. Sometimes, just knowing what was wrong was the biggest burden of them all.

They broke for lunch at eleven. Duck turned the inside of his truck upside down, looking for his lunch, before finally admitting he'd forgotten to pack one. If he remembered correctly, there were some leftovers in the Lodge fridge that he could cobble a sandwich together from. He maneuvered his forest service truck through the streets of Kepler; a couple of folks outside the still signless Pizza Hut waved at him, and he waved back.

From the looks of it, just about everyone at the Lodge was roaming around. There was splashing and shouting from the hot springs at the back, and Mama's office door was cracked open a bit; he could see her at her desk, her phone to her ear, tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk. A strange melody made Duck stop in his tracks to listen - until he realized, with a strange jolt, that it was the sound of a violin. Boyd Mosche was up, bright and early. 

Stern was at the dining room table, tapping away at his laptop with earbuds in. He looked up as Duck closed the door, gave him a polite nod, and returned to his computer. Duck waved, but frowned at his earbuds; the cord swung free under the table. They weren't plugged into anything. For a moment, he wondered why Stern wasn't just working in his room.

Just then, Boyd fumbled a passage and let out a loud and creative curse. Duck cringed. Yeah, that'd do it. He wouldn't be able to get a damn thing done, either. As he headed for the kitchen, he saw Stern take a sip from his coffee mug. Duck snorted. It was some random mug from the cupboard, not the mug that he and Boyd had been squabbling over, yesterday morning. He almost wished he'd been there to see today's fight, if there'd been one.

Just as he stepped through the kitchen door, he heard Mama call out. "Hey, Duck! You got a minute?"

He leaned out of the doorway. "Yeah? What's up?" he called.

Across the Lodge, Mama stood in the doorway of her office, hands in her pockets. "Can you do me a favor, real quick?" she called back. "Or do you have stuff to do?"

"Nah! I'm on lunch break, I -"

Stern took his earbuds out. "Do you two have to shout at each other across the Lodge?" he said wearily. "I'm trying to work here."

"Shoot, yeah, sorry," Mama said. She gave him an apologetic smile. "You sure you don't wanna work in your room? It'd be an awful lot quieter."

"Not with - him, sawing away back there," Stern said. "He's not bad, per se, he just - he's loud. Really loud. Especially on those high notes."

"He's doin' his best," Mama said. "He didn’t have a chance to play in jail, he’s more than a bit rusty. But yeah,” she added, when Stern grimaced. “I get it. Whatever works best for you, Gary; do what you gotta do. Duck, c'mere, let our friend get his shit done."

Jeez, it was still so weird to hear Mama say Stern's first name. It was weird to hear it, point blank, but especially from Mama. It wasn't that long ago that they all hated his guts and wanted him to leave, after all. Duck headed towards her office, picking up a throw pillow and putting it back on the sofa, and said, "What's up?"

Mama took a deep breath and sighed. "Has Leo been doin' okay?"

"I - yeah, I think so?" Duck said. "To be honest, I don't know. I saw him come back home yesterday, but I kind of overslept, I didn't hear him leave."

"Nah, he's alive, I know that much," Mama said. "He's just not pickin' up. I'm tryin' to get a hold of him, but he's wrapped up in somethin', and all I've been able to get is one of the kids working the register." She shrugged. "Y'all talk, I suspect. You're on good terms."

"Yeah, he beats the shit out of me with a sword on weekends, I'd say we're on pretty good terms," Duck muttered. Mama laughed. "Yeah, it's all good. D'you want me to talk to him, or -"

"Exactly," Mama said. "That'd be a massive help, Duck, thank you. In the light of... y'know, the shitstorm of the past two days, I wanted to ask him if he knew anyone in New York who'd be able to help us with this."

"What - there are Sylphs up there?" The moment the words left his mouth, Duck realized how silly that sounded. "I mean - yeah, sure."

"It's alright, not everyone knows about it," Mama said. "New York's got one of the biggest Sylph communities in the whole damn country - I dunno what their numbers are at these days, but there are Sylphs 'n descendants of Sylphs everywhere in that city. Leo worked with 'em a lot when the gate was up there." 

Mama grimaced. "I haven't been in touch with those folks in... well, ever," she admitted, "But they've got some real good folks there. Hell, Leo told me they _ predicted _the gate would end up in or around Kepler, back in the mid-80s."

Duck whistled. "So they know their stuff?"

"Yeah, and they might have some ideas as to what we can do," Mama said. "Aubrey's long shot about there bein' other crystals out there, like the one they slapped back on the main one last night, is our best option right now. If anyone would know where to start, it'd be them."

She grimaced. "...But," she said at last, "I don't even know where to start."

"So, Leo."

"Leo."

"I can talk to him, yeah," Duck said. "Just ask him to talk to you, or -?"

"Preferably, yeah," Mama said. "If he's got anything, I'd like to meet with him and discuss it, maybe with the whole Pine Guard. Everyone's gotta be on the same page with this, if we're goin' forward with Aubrey's idea." She took a deep breath and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "If there really are crystals all over the ding-dang place," she muttered, "I'd like to know as soon as possible. If we gotta go to Australia and dig a fragment out of the fuckin' desert, I'm gonna lose my goddamn gourd."

"What, don't wanna go on a nice vacation?" Duck said, laughing.

"The furthest I've got the patience for is California, and that's that," Mama said, with a wry smile. "Go on, Duck. Get. Grab some lunch if you can, and maybe a cup of coffee. You look in rough shape, mister."

"Well, thanks," Duck muttered. Mama laughed again, shaking her head kindly. "Aye aye, captain. See ya when I see ya."

Thank fuck, Leo wasn't a hard man to find. Every day of the week except Sunday, he was up at the ass-crack of dawn to open his shop at eight, and he stayed there until closing at seven. On Sundays, he didn't open until ten, but still. He did his due diligence. Duck could set a watch by him. 

Sure enough, Duck could see the short old man through the general store windows as he pulled into a parking space. Leo was busy restocking the pasta section; the sun shining through the window gleamed on his arm, all polished black metal and neatly oiled gears. Duck grimaced. He was still so amazed by that prosthetic; if he didn't know, he couldn't even tell that, with an unnatural snap of the wrist, it could telescope out into a sword as sturdy and deadly as Beacon. Lord knew it had kicked his ass more than once, these past couple of months. Minerva'd realized that Leo was still a good fighter, regardless of his age, and he'd have a lot more time than three minutes a night to train Duck. Especially on the weekends.

Yeah. Having Leo in his corner as an erstwhile Chosen One still took some getting used to. But it was all more than worth it in the end. He hoped.

When the bell above the door jangled as Duck came in, Leo looked up and beamed. "Hey, how's it goin?" he said. "Long time no - oh, Jesus Christ, Duck, you look tired as all hell. You doin' okay? Sleep good last night?"

"Man, I wish," Duck said. Leo grimaced in sympathy. "Think I might grab a cup of coffee or a sandwich while I'm here."

"You got my vote for that, Duck," Leo said. "Help yourself, Melanie will ring you up. We got some smoked turkey sandwiches in the cooler, I just restocked 'em this morning."

Duck grabbed a random sandwich from the cooler and went to the coffee dispenser. He grabbed the largest cup Leo sold and poured himself a cup; the hot liquid seared his hands through the thin cardboard. He winced and grabbed another cup, nestling one inside the other. "Cool, cool," he said. He cleared his throat. "Leo, while I'm here, uh - d'you have a minute to talk?"

"In bits and pieces, maybe," Leo said. "I got time for you, though, Duck, always do. What's goin' on?"

Duck glanced over at Melanie. The young woman was reading a book behind the cash register, hunched over on a stool; she wore a denim jacket with a Hornets patch on one shoulder. She looked completely absorbed. Duck edged out of her line of sight and gave Leo a meaningful look. "It's about, y'know," he started. "Mama's... side business. She sent me to talk to you."

Leo's face turned grave. "Oh, dang," he said. "Yeah, no, of course, what's - what's goin' on? She need any help?"

"Yeah, actually," Duck said. He lowered his voice. "Some stuff came up, the last time we went to Sylvain. Shit's fuckin' wild over there, man, you've got to swing by a meeting sometime so we can fill you in."

"Yeah," Leo said, "that'd be worth it, I think. What does she need me for, though?"

"It's about New York."

Leo's face closed off. "Why?" he said suspiciously.

His prosthetic hand clenched, uncoiled. The sudden harshness in his voice almost made Duck flinch. "It's nothin' bad," he said hastily. "I don't think. She's tryin' to do some research, and she doesn't know where to start. Stuff happened in Sylvain that's got us lookin' for things like... crystal fragments, shit like that -"

"Oh, is that what she told you?" Leo said quietly. Dangerously. "You're looking for crystals?"

Duck's grip tightened on his coffee cup. "Well, that's what we've been thinkin' -"

Leo lifted a hand. His wrinkled face was cold and grim. "I want to hear it from her," he said quietly.

"Leo, what -?"

"New York isn't Sylvain's goddamn strip mine, Duck," Leo said severely. Duck's eyebrows flew up at the ferocity in his voice. He'd never heard him sound so defensive. "That's... Christ on a fuckin' bike, that's... all I'm gonna say right now." He shook his head, scrubbed a hand over his face. "I - I trust you," he said wearily, "and what you're tellin' me, but I just need to know her side of things. In exact detail. I need to know what the fuck she thinks she's doing." He tilted his head towards the cash register. "Make sure you pay for your stuff."

"What, not on the house?" Duck said, with a faint smile.

Leo did not return it. "I'll swing by the Lodge after I close up," he said, turning back to the pasta section. "See you later, Duck." 

And with that, he kept restocking the shelves, as if none of this had ever happened. Duck stared at the back of his head, fingers curling around the hot coffee. "Yeah," he said. He cleared his throat. "See you." 

The coffee was starting to hurt his hand. He switched it to his left hand on the way to the cash register. On the way over, he stopped in the stationery section and picked up a notebook. And a package of pens. He had a feeling that Indrid would be needing more of those too, in the coming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leo "oh, lore?" tarkesian has entered the chat
> 
> yep!! we're still truckin'! i haven't written duck in a while, so it's been fun getting back into his voice and headspace. this story is uncharted territory, for both him and the plot as a whole, and it's interesting to see how he reacts to all these changes. i've been having a lot more fun writing the interactions between stern and boyd, to be honest; can't decide if they're character foils or they just mirror each other, but this "you're the bad guy and i'm not" dynamic is still super fun to write. i hope you're enjoying it as much as i am. "stubborn beast" and "someone keeps moving my chair" are for them; if you remember chapter 3, "someone keeps moving my chair" is painfully accurate. thanks to corn for suggesting that one, it's perfect
> 
> and honestly, not enough people talk about leo tarkesian and what he used to do. and like - new york? a gate in new york? jesus christ, griffin, there was so much potential that could've come out of that. the people, the culture, all that... sylvans in major american cities and not in the middle of nowhere would have a huge percy jackson sort of vibe, and i'd be 100% here for that. guess i'll just do it myself. god, i love worldbuilding
> 
> i hope y'all are holding up okay! thanks for sticking with this story as long as you have. i know this isn't updating at the lightning speed TMWCIFTC did, but i'm still fine-tuning some aspects of the plot to make it the best that it can be. i appreciate your support so much. as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. hang in there, y'all, we got this


	13. Sweater Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU'VE FORGOTTEN WHAT THIS STORY'S ABOUT, A BRIEF SUMMARY OF IT THROUGH THE LAST CHAPTER CAN BE FOUND [HERE.](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/post/620960221100212224/possible-long-post-warning-if-i-fuck-this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter NOT brought to you by the song "sweater weather" by the neighbourhood. joke's on you. instead:
> 
> \- "The Green Heron," Andrew Bird  
\- ["A Storm Is Coming," Howard Shore](https://open.spotify.com/track/0wicJTv0Jv3xLp37FLb8Eh?autoplay=true&v=T). no i don't know what subtlety is
> 
> and the rest of the TCOS playlist, [found here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ)

Aubrey didn’t know if it could get any worse than this.

The days leading up to the full moon always fucking _ sucked. _ Looking at calendars made Aubrey’s skin crawl. She felt like she was standing in the middle of an empty highway in the desert, scanning the horizon for a car that never came. A quiet, tense waiting, always poised to run. Since the Ashminder in January, these filler moons between actual monster attacks had stopped being safe. "Every other full moon" was no longer a guarantee.

There were things, though, that Aubrey and Dani could guarantee. They had each other, after all. That was enough.

That Monday, two days after the crystal’s little power outage, the two of them went on a hike. They hadn't had the chance to lace up their hiking boots for a while, and after the panic of the past weekend, it felt good to get out. Escape it all just a bit. The rest of Kepler seemed to have the same idea. The weather was fucking gorgeous; skies were clear for miles around. School had let out the day before, and there were a lot more people on the trails than usual. Aubrey could hear dirtbike motors echoing in the distance, or the _ whizz-clunk _ of mountain bikers shifting gears as they headed uphill. 

And there was, as always, the gaggle of Muffy and Winthrop's out-of-town friends; thankfully, they stuck to the trails by Resort Row. Aubrey and Dani had to take a detour to avoid Muffy and Winthrop themselves; they'd seen them on a trail and charged towards them with a conversational gleam in their eye, and the two women promptly turned around and went in the other direction.

There was a trail that went uphill a ways, weaving among the pines north of the Lodge, before slicing back down and ending near the hot springs. The trail was narrow and little-traveled, but gloriously quiet; the late afternoon sun glanced through the pine needles, gilding everything in gold. Dani walked slightly ahead of Aubrey; Aubrey grabbed her backpack and gently tugged her back, until they were walking side by side. 

Dani glanced back, an eyebrow raised. "What?" Aubrey said. A few strands of blonde hair fell into Dani's eyes; Aubrey gently pushed them back. "You've got long legs, I'm dying back here."

Dani just grinned, looping an arm around her waist. "Sorry, babe," she said, giving Aubrey a kiss on the temple. 

"Yeah, yuk it up." Aubrey scratched Dr. Harris Bonkers behind the ears. "So you were gonna tell me about vampire movies?"

"Yeah," Dani said, "I've been thinkin' about it a lot lately... just kinda bear with me on this one, okay? None of this is gonna make any sense."

"Try me."

"So I feel like you can split vampires in those movies into two categories, right?" Dani said. "We got type one: magic person with powers that drinks blood and can shapeshift and fly, all that."

Aubrey nodded.

"And then type two is just... people, but like humanoid animals, y'know? They got heightened senses and are more..." Dani grimaced. "Alien. Kinda. Not like me, alien, but you know what I mean. And they're either real angsty about it, or just straight up monsters."

"Oh, shit, yeah," Aubrey said. "So the first -" She almost walked into a branch. Dani tugged her slightly out of the way, steering her down the trail. "Thanks, babe. The first one's like _ Twilight, _ or _ What We Do in the Shadows, _all..." She gestured dramatically with her free arm and said, in her best Megamind voice, "Presentation!"

Dani snorted with laughter. "Exactly!"

"And the second are like..." _ If you went feral, _ she almost said, but even the possibility made her stomach lurch. She shook her head, hunched over a bit, and let out a deep, gravelly sigh. "Why are we here?" she rasped. Dani giggled. "Just to suffer? Every day, I feel my teeth -"

Dani kept laughing, one hand pressed to her mouth. A bright, giddy warmth bloomed in Aubrey's chest when she saw her smile. She stood on her tiptoes, just a bit, and kissed Dani on the cheek. "Great theory, hon," she said. "It makes a lot of sense. I dig it!"

"Thanks," Dani said. "So, which one's your favorite?"

"Which what?"

"Which type, one or two?"

"You," Aubrey said. Dani gave her an embarrassed, flustered smile, and Aubrey giggled. She ran her hand down Dani's arm, gently lacing their fingers together. Holding Dani's hand, feeling the warm press of their palms together - it made the world around Aubrey blend into a soft, gentle golden fog. Her cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. Good grief, she just loved Dani so much.

Everything just felt right, when they were together. More peaceful, especially these days; Aubrey had been so worried about her, during the past week, and just being able to be with Dani put her mind at ease. 

After a while, the trail narrowed, and she and Dani had to walk in single file. Aubrey let Dani lead the way; from here, she could walk in Dani's shadow and let her block out the sun. Aubrey felt her eyes drifting to the wildflowers on either side of the trail, searching for black mold or strange shadows. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but...

Even now, she could feel the presence of the gate a few miles away - like there was a cord hooked to her chest, tugging her. No matter how hard she looked, she didn't think she was doing it right. If there were answers to what was happening in Kepler, Aubrey felt like they'd be in Sylvain.

God. She was itching to go back. Now that Aubrey knew she could scoot on over any time she wanted, for whatever reason, she kept wanting to sneak back. It didn't hurt that she'd have a chance to check on Fabian, to see if he had a letter for Dani and Evelyn. Dani could always use some cheering up. But it was just one letter - one letter that Fabian might not even have done yet...

A loud _ crack _rang out in the forest.

Aubrey and Dani froze. There was a flurry of distant wings, and a small flock of panicked birds flew overhead. Aubrey grabbed Dani's elbow, but let go as Dr. Harris Bonkers squirmed in her arms. "Hey, hey, shh," she whispered, grabbing the back of his harness. "What was that?"

Dani scanned the forest. "I - don't know," she whispered back. "Might've been a branch?"

Aubrey's fingers itched; if she wasn't holding Dr. Harris Bonkers, she would get ready to cast a fireball. She held her breath and listened closer. It felt as if she was standing on rotten ice, waiting for it to snap. A sudden strong gust of wind rustled the leaves; the forest breathed around them, branches creaking and moaning. But there were no sounds like the one she'd just heard - nothing, really, that suggested they had company in these woods.

And then there was rain. The hissing of water on leaves swelled and grew, like a crowd breathing in through clenched teeth. Water dripped onto the back of Aubrey's neck; she shivered, clumsily wiping it away. "You got the umbrella?" she said.

"Yeah," Dani said. "Gimme a minute."

As Dani fumbled with the backpack straps, branches cracked above them. Aubrey looked up and yelped, dragging Dani backwards. Dani stumbled with her, just as a grapefruit-sized chunk of ice fell through the trees and shattered on the ground where she’d been standing. 

They stood there, staring at it. "What the fuck," Dani breathed. "What the _ fuck?" _

The ice glistened in the sunlight like shards of bone. It must have been almost perfectly round when it fell; Aubrey could see rings inside it, where layers of ice had quickly frozen over each other. It was the biggest hailstone she'd ever seen. 

Nothing else fell. "D'you think that was it?" Aubrey said hesitantly. "Or -"

"I think that's it," Dani said. She stared over her shoulder, then up at the canopy. "Sky's clear - it's not supposed to be fucking _ hailing _right now -"

Just then, thunder cracked above them, and something hit Aubrey on the head. She cursed and hunched over Dr. Harris Bonkers. Pain flared in her skull; she whimpered. A golf ball-sized hailstone rolled off her shoulder and onto the ground. Dani grabbed Aubrey's elbow and dragged her away. "That's it," she said firmly. "We're out of here."

Hailstones kept falling; shredded leaves littered the trail like confetti. Aubrey sprinted behind Dani, biting back curses; her feet struck the uneven trail at odd angles. She winced as pain shot up her legs. Dr. Harris Bonkers let out a panicked squeak and wriggled around in her arms. All she could do was shield him from the hailstones; they bounced off her back and arms, clattering on the packed earth.

She felt sick. The weather had been perfectly clear all day - not a single sign of a coming storm. If Aubrey didn't know better, she'd think the hail was following them - but no. A flicker of dread went through her. She did know better, after that thing in the water they'd killed at H 2 Whoa last October. 

And in Kepler, anything was possible.

The trail ended; Aubrey's feet pounded on uneven, crumbling soil, then on asphalt, as they stumbled into the Lodge parking lot. Thunder cracked right overhead, and they both instinctively ducked. Aubrey sprinted after Dani onto the front porch, cringing as the floorboards screamed under her feet. "Okay," she panted, clutching Dr. Harris Bonkers closer to her chest. The motion made her arms ache, like she'd been punched. She looked at her arm and winced; her skin was peppered with slowly-forming bruises. "Okay. We're good. We're - we're fine. Jesus Christ, Dani, what was that?"

Dani didn't answer. She lingered near the edge of the porch, staring up at the sky. Aubrey shuffled closer, wincing as her body complained, and followed Dani's gaze.

Dread hit her in the gut. For a brief moment, Aubrey felt like she was standing inside the bars of a massive cage, one that stretched all the way up to the sky. The late afternoon sky was broken into strips of black clouds, like a barcode; the sky between each strip was clear blue, fading to gold as the sun set. Hailstones fell inside each strip, the sunlight flickering on each stone. Startled birds soared up from the treetops, dodging and weaving between the columns.

Thunder rumbled. Aubrey took a step away from the porch's edge. The falling hail sounded like a distant, ominous drumroll on the forest floor. Dani blindly reached for her; Aubrey stepped close. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" she whispered.

Dani's arm settled around her shoulders. Aubrey almost took comfort in it, but Dani's voice was anything but reassuring. "No," she said shakily. "Never."

The full moon. The full moon was this Saturday. Aubrey couldn't help but feel panic rocket through her, thinking about what the next day might bring. Were they safe here? Were they safe anywhere? Could they even afford to go back to Sylvain, or should they stay? If there was something here in Kepler causing this - and there had to be, there just _ had _ to, storms didn't _ do this _\- they had to stay and find out what it was. 

Didn't they?

Wood creaked softly behind them - so softly that it was almost lost, in the sound of the hail. The Lodge's front door swung open with a ponderous groan. She heard Duck's voice. "Hey, are y'all - oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he yelped, "what _ happened _to you two?"

Aubrey turned around. Duck stood in the doorway, staring at the bruises on their arms. He was still dressed in his work uniform; there were grass stains and smudges of dirt on his pants, and Aubrey could see a leaf in his hair. He seemed dry, though; did he escape the storm? "Are you two okay?" he said, bewildered. "Jesus - you might wanna get some ice on those bruises -"

"Nah, we've both had enough of that for today," Dani said darkly. Thunder rumbled right behind them, and they all flinched. "It just started hailin' out there, and we got stuck in the middle of it."

Duck stared. "Wh - _ hailing,” _he repeated.

"Yeah, hailstones as big as golf balls," Aubrey said. "Maybe bigger. And it's not falling all at once, it's comin' down in columns - hey, hey, buddy, shh," she said, as Dr. Harris Bonkers wiggled around in her arms; she put him down, gently nudging him into the Lodge, and he immediately sprinted for Dani's half-open door. Dani let go of Aubrey and chased after him. "I didn't think we'd get hail today," she said to Duck. "It wasn't in the forecast, and the day was completely clear, I don't -"

She could feel a note of panic in her voice, and swallowed. Duck nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said. "It - it ain't right. That's interesting, though, that y'all got hail in your neck of the woods. I got snow."

Aubrey stared at him. “Huh?” she said. _ “You _got -”

“Yeah, like that,” Duck said, pointing at something over Aubrey’s shoulder. Aubrey turned, leaning one way to look around the support pole, and made a face. A perfect two foot-wide column of snow was drifting from the clear sky - and piling right on the hood of Stern’s car. It was almost beautiful. Aubrey could still hear the faint rumble of falling hail, as well as a few distant car alarms down the mountain, but it was all slightly muffled and distant. She felt like she was looking through a hole in reality, into a snowy winter forest light years away.

The wind kicked up. She grimaced, held her breath. Again, there was that harsh bite of something rotten, lacing the air like poison.

“Hopefully it’ll melt,” Duck said suddenly, and Aubrey jumped. “I wouldn’t wanna be Stern and have to break the ice scraper out in fuckin’ May.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey said, staring at the pile of snow. “I… Duck?”

“Hm?”

“What the hell is happening?” she said softly.

Duck was silent for a long, long time. Aubrey glanced at him; he stared out into the parking lot, face expressionless, but Aubrey knew that his mind was racing. “I wish I knew,” he said at last. “This shit… it ain’t normal, that’s all I can say. I’ve lived here for years, and I’ve never seen the weather act up like this.”

Aubrey thought back to Christmas: the strange snow, the deadly storm, Rick Dannon’s truck crumpled like a soda can beyond a broken guard rail. The car alarms echoing downhill felt much more ominous. “You sure about that?” she said tentatively. “Remember last December?”

Duck grimaced. “Yeah,” he said uncomfortably. “You got a point.”

They watched the snow pile onto Stern's car a while longer. At this point, it had formed a small hill; Aubrey bet she could make a little snowman out of it. She took a deep breath, sighed, and drifted into the Lodge. Duck followed her in silence. 

The Lodge seemed quiet, as the storm rumbled around them; Aubrey could hear Barclay clattering around in the kitchen, and Jake was on the sofa messing around with a Rubik's cube, but there weren't many other people. A battered jean jacket hung on the coat tree, next to Duck’s forest service windbreaker and hat. The door to Mama's office was closed, but the lights were on. "Is Mama busy?" Aubrey said. "I think we should tell her about everything that's going on right now, don't you?"

"Yeah, definitely," Duck said. He leaned on the reception desk. "That's - why I'm here, actually. I found some fuckin' weird shit on the trail today, and it's..." He grimaced. There was a guilty look in his eyes. "I didn't want to get Juno more looped into it than she already is," he admitted, "so I just... bagged it and brought it here."

"Is it safe?"

Duck grinned. "If it's not,” he said, “d'you wanna set it on fire?"

"Hell yeah, I do," Aubrey said. "What've you got?"

Duck jerked his head towards the dining room and went over to the table. Old newspapers were spread across it a few layers deep; on top of the newspaper were several plastic bags with USDA labels on them, clearly meant for labeling samples. Stern was standing over them, prodding the bags with a pair of barbecue tongs and flipping them over. A yellow legal pad sat on the table next to him, covered in chicken scratch. "They ain't radioactive, Stern, you can pick 'em up with your bare hands," Duck said. 

"You don't know that," Stern said gravely.

"Yeah, I do, I bagged 'em myself," Duck said flatly. "Sure, I wore gloves 'n shit, but I'm not dead. You're gonna be fine.” Stern didn’t answer. Duck edged closer. “Hey.”

“Mm.”

“Think fast." Duck waved his hand near Stern, and Stern jumped back, like a little kid on a playground afraid of cooties. When Duck grinned at him, a small smile flickered across Stern's face, and he set down the tongs. Duck tilted his head towards the table. "So, what d'you think about these?"

"I think they're gross," Stern said bluntly. He picked up one of the bags and turned it over, so the contents were visible.

Aubrey moved closer. She winced. It was pretty clear that there was a flower in there, but it looked more like a piece of soggy lettuce that had been stuck in the sink for a long time. It was dripping with thick black ichor, tar-like and rotting. The other bags told a similar story; they held leaves, plants, and even a few clumps of grass, all withered and soaked in ichor. "Ew," she said.

"Yeah," Stern said. "I... yeah. That's accurate. Eugh." He turned to Duck. "What d'you think about these, Duck? Look like anything you've seen before?"

Duck took a deep breath. "Closest I can imagine," he sighed, "is from back last August, when that beast came out of the woods. We told you 'bout that one, right?"

"The monster that looked like a bunch of woodland creatures, crushed together like Silly Putty?" Stern said flatly. "Yeah. I remember you talkin' about that. That sucked."

"It sucked even more to fight, believe me," Aubrey said, squinting at a bag with a single maple leaf inside. Even though it was mid-May, the leaf was a bright orange, as if it had fallen in the middle of October. The veins were shot through with black. Aubrey grimaced and backed away. "And it kinda spewed ichor everywhere, whenever we fought it... looked a lot like this gunk, to be honest."

Stern swallowed. "Oh," he said faintly. "That's... lovely. D'you think it might have something to do with that?"

Duck took a while to answer. He picked up a bag with a few more flowers inside, looking at them. "It might," he said quietly. "It might not. It kinda reminds me of the black goo that harpy thing was spewin', when it charged at you, Aubrey."

"The what?" Stern said, bewildered.

"Oh, jeez, yeah," Aubrey said. She winced at the memory. The salve Janelle gave her was working wonders on the injury, and it was already almost healed. But that harpy... good fucking grief, it was terrifying. "Might have something to do with a monster, then?"

"Maybe," Duck said. "Maybe it does. I dunno - I just wanna run it by Mama, in case she's seen somethin' like this before."

"Why don't we?"

"She's busy," Stern said, tilting his head towards Mama's door. "I'm not totally sure what's going on, but she's talking with Leo Tarkesian right now."

The guilty look on Duck's face returned.

"He showed up a few minutes ago to talk to her, and he's... chewing her out about something," Stern said. "I think they're gonna be busy for a while. I want to run something by Mama, too, I might be able to work some of this into my report -"

"You're gonna report on this?" Duck said, bewildered. "That - Stern, won't that just get your folks even more interested in this place?"

Mama's door was closed, but now that she was looking closely... it was cracked open just a bit. Aubrey glanced at Duck, then at Stern. She backed away from the dining room and slunk across the Lodge.Stern said something, but Aubrey tried to tune him out; she was close enough to the door that she was able to hear Mama talking, but she couldn't hear what she was saying. She shifted closer to the wall, holding her breath. 

There was a long, long silence. Then Leo said, voice more hostile than Aubrey had ever heard, "Look. I don't know what your game is, Mama. But I'm not gonna tell you a damn thing about New York."

* * *

The silence after Leo’s words rang like a bell. Leo’s voice was loud and bitter enough to make Duck look up and stare. He slowly set down the sample bag. Stern said faintly, “Oh, jeez -”

"We're not gonna hurt them, Leo!" Mama exclaimed. “I…” 

She sighed, and said something again, much softer - too soft for Duck to hear. Aubrey stared at Duck. Duck raised his eyebrows at her; she jerked her head towards the door, eyes wide, and kept listening. Duck tiptoed across the Lodge towards her, carefully dodging the creaky floorboards. As he leaned against the wall opposite Aubrey, he heard Mama say, "We just wanna talk to someone there, Leo. We're clean out of ideas, and they seemed like the next best place to ask."

"About what?" 

Duck peered through the crack in the door; at this angle, all he could see was Leo, sitting straight-backed in one of Mama's chairs, and Mama's hands laced together on her desk. Her knuckles were white. "Crystals,” she said. “We're tryin' to find some on our side -"

"Yeah. And here we are," Leo said quietly, "back at square one." His voice took on a low, dangerous edge. "Madeline Cobb, you’d better listen to me."

"I'm listening," Mama said. 

"If you and the rest of the Pine Guard take one step towards New York, you and I are never speaking again."

The silence that followed made something in Duck’s chest shrivel up. It always seemed like Mama had something to say, something to put people at ease or some kind of truth to speak, but the acid in Leo’s voice… At last, she said, "There’s a crystal in New York, isn’t there."

Leo was silent. Suddenly it all made sense to Duck: Leo’s panic in the store, his hostility and suspicion, the cold steel in his voice as he talked to Mama. Duck had only ever known Leo as a kindhearted, chill man, who never raised his voice unless he absolutely had to, and had a kind word for everyone. He’d never seen Leo like this…

Well. Not since January, when he’d helped them fight. Leo didn’t fight often, but when something he cared about was in danger.... he’d show up. 

Then Mama said gently, “Leo. We’re not gonna try and take it.”

There was silence. "What?" Leo said at last. "You're - but I thought -"

"I don't know the size of the Sylvan community up there, but I got a feelin' that taking their fucking energy source would kill 'em," Mama said dryly. "Just a little hunch. Jesus _ Christ, _Leo, did you really think I'd -"

"Yeah, I know," Leo said faintly, "I - I'm sorry. That was definitely a stretch." His shoulders slumped; Duck heard the chair creak. "Yeah. I know you better than that," he said, with a soft laugh. "I'm sorry. Just overreacted, that's all."

"It's okay," Mama said. "If you came up to me and said you had to drain the hot springs to - to fund your store, or some bullshit like that, I'd be just as fuckin' pissed at you."

"Good to know we're on the same page," Leo said. "Scared the piss out of me, Mama, goddamn." 

Mama chuckled softly. 

“So, what's the rush? Some kind of breakthrough on your end?"

"Guess you can call it that," Mama said. She started filling Leo in on Aubrey’s plan. Duck shifted his weight, listening with bated breath for a creak in the floorboards. Nothing happened; he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "It's basic," Mama was saying, "but it might work. Kinda like a tree graft. Get fragments of the crystal back in Sylvain, put 'em on, and, well... could push the Quell back. We don't know, but it's worth a shot."

"Hm." Leo drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Don't wanna rain on your parade there, but... thirty, forty years ago, we thought about doin' the exact same thing."

Aubrey and Duck stared at each other. "What?" Aubrey whispered. Duck shrugged, pressing a finger to his lips, and kept listening. Interesting, that Aubrey’s idea wasn’t new - how come it didn’t -

“How come it didn’t work?”

Well, thanks, Mama. Asking all the right questions.

"We couldn't even try," Leo said. "Don't fuckin' tell anyone about this -" Aubrey and Duck gave each other guilty looks. "- I got sworn to secrecy to keep this locked down. But there... _ was _a crystal there. Extenuating circumstances kept us from gettin' it to Sylvain.”

“Like what?”

“The community’s big, Mama. I haven’t been in touch with ‘em for a long, long while, but there were thousands of them when I was there. Can’t just cut ‘em all loose at the drop of a hat.” He paused. "Plus," he added, "it was buried twenty feet under the Hudson.”

Aubrey’s jaw dropped.

"Sorry, what the fuck?" Mama demanded. "It - _ what?” _

“Yeah. Made it tough to get it back to Sylvain. You can get a body through the subway without being noticed, if you try hard enough,” Leo said, in a voice that suggested he knew that from personal experience. “But digging up a twenty-foot crystal from the fucking Hudson? Woof. You got another thing coming.”

“Leo, the whole damn crystal in Sylvain’s that size!” Mama said incredulously. “How the hell did it get that big? Did it _ grow?” _

"I dunno, Mama, I wasn't one of the science-type folks figuring that shit out!" Leo exclaimed. "I - I got a sword, and that's pretty much it. I'm not -”

He faltered, fell silent. Duck heard his chair creak, and glanced through the door again. Leo’s hands gripped each other tight in his lap. “I’m not Thacker," he said softly.

The name fell, and rattled in the silence that followed. Aubrey and Duck looked at each other awkwardly, then away. Duck stared at a patch of flaking paint on the wall; something uneasy settled into his stomach. He'd never heard Leo sound like that about anything. Sounded like Thacker and Leo had been friends, once. 

Duck... knew the guy, in passing. He'd been a figure in Kepler ever since Duck was a kid; Juno was closer to the guy than he was, and she'd taken it hard when he'd gone missing, but Duck still knew who he was. Thacker would lead nature hikes and teach kids about the forest, and just about everyone who met him liked him. In the 90's, he'd gotten a bit more reclusive, more on-edge. He didn't hold as many hikes, or lead people as far into the woods. Now that Duck was in the Pine Guard, he understood why.

The flaking paint seemed to take a new shape: an open mouth, maybe, lips twisted in an anguished scream. The shadows sat strangely on the edges - like oozing black ichor. In the back of his mind, Duck heard fingernails, scraping down glass. _ “What have you done to him?” _

The scraping felt closer. He flinched, came back to himself. Aubrey was looking at him strangely. He swallowed and glanced through the crack in the door. Leo was absentmindedly scratching the arm of his chair with his thumbnail. "You think," the man began, then paused. "If you pull this stunt. And it works. Do you think Thacker'll get better?"

"That's the hope," Mama said, but she didn't sound super optimistic. "The Quell's got 'im in its grip, real bad. Dunkin' him in the hot springs for a week or so didn't work, and now we're just... playin' a waiting game, and crossing our fingers."

"That's all?" Leo said flatly.

Mama sighed and leaned back in her chair; Duck heard it creak. "He seemed... weaker," she said, sounding troubled. "'Bout the same time when they jammed the crystal back together, judgin' from Aubrey's timeline. And he seemed stronger when the energy drained out, the day before. I think it's got somethin' to do with that. Whatever we can do to fix the crystal might get the Quell to let up -"

"You sure it's the Quell?"

Leo's voice was quiet, grim. His question made Mama pause. "Well," she said, and for the first time in a long time, Duck thought she sounded uncertain. "What else would it be?"

Minerva’s voice again, echoing through his skull like a bell. Christ.

Leo did not say anything for a while. At last, he sighed, "I dunno. I really wish I did. Like I said, I don't have the brain cells in all of this."

"If you find someone who does," Mama said dryly, "let me know, 'cause we could use a hand." Duck saw Aubrey's mouth twist, stifling a chuckle. "If you know anyone in New York that can help us -?"

"Yeah. Hm. I... my information's gonna be a little out of date, y'know, I haven't been in touch with 'em for a while, but if Lucy's still doing archival work..."

"Just write down whoever comes to mind," Mama said. Pens rattled around on her desk; she cursed softly. "Hang on, there are some pens on that shelf behind ya -"

"I'll grab 'em, don't worry -"

Duck heard Leo's chair scoot back. Without even looking at each other, he and Aubrey dove away from the door. Aubrey walked back to the dining room as fast as she could, as if nothing had happened. Duck doubted he'd be able to make it that far; he launched himself towards the couch and sat down next to Jake. The couch frame squeaked.

Jake looked up from his Rubik's cube, one eyebrow raised. "Subtle," he said, grinning.

"You stop that," Duck said, not looking at him. Shapes moved in Mama's office, on the other side of the frosted glass in her window. Leo was standing next to Mama's desk, it looked like, scribbling on a piece of paper. They were going to come out any minute. "Cover for me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jake said, rolling his eyes. "You got it, Duck."

He spun the cube around, looking at it from all sides. Duck watched him mess around with it. "Think you can get it solved?" he said.

"Doubt it," Jake said, scowling. He tapped one of the corners. "Dani said Boyd was fuckin' around with this earlier... I think he might've switched one of the corner pieces around, so he could solve it."

"That fucker," Duck said. He squinted at the Rubik's cube, but to tell the truth, he couldn't tell if Jake was anywhere close to solving it. He liked playing with the things, but he never really cared about solving it. "Can you bug 'im to switch it back?"

Jake shrugged. He twisted the cube around, fingers pushing and prodding. "He's in the hot springs," he said. "Takin' a break. He's probably napping in there, to be honest, he always used to do that. I don't wanna wake him up, y'know? He's already riled up, what with..." 

Jake grimaced, looking over his shoulder. "Him," he said. Duck followed his gaze. In the dining room, Stern had settled down in a chair, squinting at a bag full of grass and taking notes on his legal pad. His nose was awfully close to the bag, as if he couldn't quite see through it, and he didn't even look at the pad as he wrote. Jesus, no wonder Stern's handwriting was shitty. Aubrey tapped Stern on the shoulder; he jumped, and she apologized, before pointing at one of the bags and asking a question. 

"Yeah," Duck said. "Him.” He added, “Can't really say I blame Boyd, though."

"Neither can I," Jake said. He opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it, and closed it again. Duck watched him spin the top part of the Rubik's cube around for a bit, trying to get the squares to line up. 

Then Mama's office door creaked open; Leo stepped out, moving fast, and made a beeline for the door. "Hey, Leo," Duck said, waving. 

Leo jumped. "Oh, hey," he said. "Jesus, Duck, you - you kinda scared me there, what's goin' on?"

"Just waiting on you to get done," Duck said. "Everything okay in there, or -?"

Leo's eyes narrowed. For a minute, Duck thought he'd been found out, but then Leo gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. "Yeah," he said. "I think it is. Thanks for tellin' me to stop by, Duck, I appreciate it."

"Yeah, no, no problem," Duck said, standing up. "You yield your time and get outta here, Leo, I gotta talk to Mama about some shit." With a quiet, wry smile, Leo nodded and left, grabbing his jacket from the coat tree on his way out.

Just as Leo closed the door, there was a distant rumble of thunder, and rain pattered on the glass dome above. Duck glanced up; a gust of wind rattled the pines, and a few pine needles skittered across the glass. For a moment, he was blown away by the sky; the late afternoon sun was sinking, and the undersides of the clouds glowed a soft, pale yellow. It wasn't the most impressive sunset he'd ever seen, but something about the rippling golden light and soft, fluffy clouds was almost peaceful.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Duck jumped; Aubrey was standing next to him. "Mama's free, now," she said. "C'mon."

She was holding one of the sample bags - the orange maple leaf, dry and brittle with black, moldy veins. Duck took a deep breath and sighed. "Yeah," he said heavily. "Yeah, I'm comin'."

The same golden sunlight filtered into Mama’s office; everything was bathed in a soft, muted glow, like they were suspended in murky water. Mama wasn't sitting at her desk, when they came in; she was staring out the window at the rain, hands in her pockets. Aubrey hesitated in the door, and Duck almost ran into her. He didn't blame her, though; Mama's shoulders slumped a bit more than usual, and her eyes seemed distant. When the floorboards creaked under them, though, she looked up. "Hey, you two," she said, with a weary, kind smile. "What's up?"

By way of introduction, Aubrey held up the sample bag. Mama's smile dropped off her face so fast, Duck could have heard it shatter on the ground. "Oh, Jesus," she said, coming towards them. "Aubrey, what the hell -"

"Duck found it," Aubrey said, handing the bag to her. "He's got more bags on - oh," she said feebly, as Mama put the bag on her desk without looking at it, instead looking at Aubrey's arm. She gently grabbed Aubrey’s wrist, holding her arm up to the light. Duck winced. Yeah, he didn't blame Mama for being worried. The bruises on Aubrey's arm were getting darker and darker by the minute. "Yeah. Uh..."

"What happened to you?" Mama said anxiously. "Did somethin' attack you? What's goin' on?"

Aubrey and Duck glanced at each other. "That's why we're here," Duck said. "We've... seen, and, uh... felt some things that ain't right. We wanted to fill you in, 'cause." He gestured vaguely around them. "Shit gets fucked up sometimes."

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," Mama sighed. She moved back around to her desk, sitting down heavily in the chair. "Okay. Tell me all about it."

Duck dragged over a spare chair and sat down next to Aubrey. She started first, filling in Mama about the hailstorm, and good grief - she and Dani were so damn lucky to get out of there in one piece. Those hailstones could have knocked them out or given them a real bad head injury, especially when they were that size. And the storm was still raging outside, too - Duck could still hear a distant car alarm or three, along with distant rumbles of thunder. Shit was getting messy.

Then it was Duck's turn. "Yeah," he said, "I... my side of things ain't as exciting, but it's been a big enough problem that I think somethin' else is going on. There are more bags like this out in the dining room," he said, gesturing at the plastic bag with the leaf. Mama picked it up, avoiding touching the leaf even through the plastic. "But the plant life's lookin' real rough, right now. There's a weird black mold takin' hold of everything."

"Looks like ichor," Mama said grimly. "Lot like the shit that Thacker's covered in, half the time."

"That's what I thought, yeah," Duck said. "Stern's lookin' at some of the plants right now, I can go out there and get 'em if you want to see more."

The moment he said Stern's name, a faint grimace flickered across Mama's face. He paused. "What?"

"What?" Mama said, looking at him.

"You kinda made a face, there, when Duck mentioned Stern," Aubrey said.

Mama sighed and looked down at her desk. "Yeah," she said flatly. "I... sure." 

"Thought Stern had your support through and through," Duck said, frowning. "Is - what's goin' on, did something change?"

Mama just shook her head. "I'm vouchin' for him, sure," Mama said, "but that don't mean I'm not keeping an eye on him." 

She glanced over Aubrey's shoulder at her office door, one eyebrow raised. Duck and Aubrey turned around. It was open enough for both of them to see the dining room, where Stern was still taking notes. Duck saw Jane wander in with a handful of dishes, putting them in the sink; she glanced at the bags and made a face, and said something to Stern that Duck couldn't make out. Stern said something back, and Jane pulled out a chair and sat down.

Looked like he was busy. There was no chance of him hearing them. But Mama said anyway, "Aubrey, would you mind closin' that door for me, there?"

Aubrey reached back and pushed the door shut; Mama didn't move until it was completely closed. She took a deep breath and sighed, looking down at her desk. "My support for Mister Gary Stern," she said quietly, "ain’t unconditional." She glanced at Duck, then at Aubrey. "He’s not like you two.”

"Oh," Duck said faintly. "I - huh. I thought you'd changed your mind on him."

"I don't see him as an out-and-out obstacle anymore, no," Mama said. "It really does pain me to say this, 'cause he did put his life on the line for us. And he keeps doin' that, and helpin' us out where he can. I took a chance on 'im, but…” She grimaced. “Everythin' that happened this past few days with him has started to make me reconsider."

"What happened?" Duck said, bewildered.

Mama glanced at Aubrey. Aubrey visibly hesitated, but nodded, hunkering down in her chair. "When he first came here," Mama explained, "Gary reported back to the FBI. On all of us. Everyone he could get a name for, really. And now those reports are turning up names."

Duck had a strong urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Criminy," he muttered.

"Aubrey's name was one of 'em," Mama said, nodding at her. "So was mine. Ned was nowhere to be found, o'course, and... well, he'd put down descriptions of the Lodge residents he 'couldn't identify.' In lurid detail."

"Not great," Duck said. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Shit." Stern had really done some damage, before he'd come over to their side - and it looked like he hadn't fixed all of it. Jesus. 

"Now, he's takin' full responsibility for everything he's done," Mama said. "He ain't pullin' any punches. He told me 'bout how he wants to quit -"

"Then why the fuck doesn't he?" Aubrey said.

Unfortunately, Duck knew exactly why. "They'll just send another agent in his place," he said grimly. "One that won't be on our side."

"Exactly," Mama said. "It helps to have him as a shield, but... he's not as good at covering his tracks as he thinks he is. And I don't know what's goin' on inside his head. If he becomes a liability, we gotta take steps to keep Amnesty Lodge safe."

"Like what?" Aubrey said tentatively.

Mama was silent for a very long time. "Best case," she said, "he leaves without a fight. He goes home, calls off the case, tells his department to leave us alone." 

She didn't say what they'd do if things were worse than that. But Duck had some idea. He had no idea how ruthless the Pine Guard was willing to be, but... if they had to get rid of Stern, like _ kill him _ get rid of him, they had options. It made him sick to think about - Stern was his fucking cousin, after all - but... if things got worse, they had to amp up their game. 

"And," Mama added, "we've got a few steps taken care of already." She pulled out her keyring and unlocked a desk drawer, taking care to open it as quietly as she could. She tilted her head towards it. Aubrey scooted her chair around to get a better look; Duck stood up, and peered in.

Inside the drawer was a familiar leather wallet, embossed with an FBI logo. Aubrey whistled quietly. "This April," Mama said, "Gary turned his badge in to me. He promised me that the minute it was safe - if he could do it without callin' attention to us, or makin' things worse - he'd quit the FBI and work with us full time."

"So what does turning the badge in do?" Aubrey said. "Is it just a - token, or something?"

"He doesn't want to be a liability," Mama said. "Him turnin' this badge in, it's more symbolic than anythin', but... when he does get around to quitting, he's gonna have to get used to fighting with us without flexin' law enforcement credentials. I’m considerin’ it practice."

"Did you take his gun?" Duck said.

"No," Mama admitted, and Aubrey sighed. Mama gave her a look. "Aubrey,” she said flatly. “We have fuckin' swords in the basement. Everyone here is packin' heat. If he was really gonna be a violent threat that way, it ain't like he's short on options."

"Yeah, I know," Aubrey said. "But -"

"I'm not hobblin' him completely," Mama said. "He's still fighting with us. You gotta remember that. But he's done the most harm with information, with tellin' people things he shouldn't have. Loose lips. He ain't a violent guy at heart. But he can put people in danger if he tells folks who've got more strength than we do." 

Her face turned dark. "Remember why he was here in the first place," she said. "He might not have been sharpenin' a knife to skin him, but believe me, if Stern found out Barclay was Bigfoot and he wasn't loyal to us... the FBI would have taken all of us months ago. Barclay would have been gone forever. They're not kind to Sylphs."

Mama’s jaw was set in a horrible, tense line. She said that with such certainty that Duck felt a chill go up his spine. It was common sense to know that the FBI wouldn't treat them well, but... to hear Mama say it, like she knew from experience, made it all painfully real. "Yeah," Duck said quietly. "I believe you."

Mama shut the drawer and locked it again. "On the plus side," she said, "at least we got Stern. Coulda been a lot worse, believe me. At least we were able to convince him to change teams, and he's makin' a fuckin' effort, too."

"D'you think everyone's gonna come around to that?" Duck said. "Like, I - everyone seems kinda wary of him, and for good reason, but -" He glanced over his shoulder, even though he knew the door was closed. "Have you heard," he said, turning back around, "about the fights he's been getting in with Boyd?"

Aubrey let out a soft chuckle. Mama sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Thirdhand, but yes," she said heavily. "Goddamn. Those two - I should have known something would get started between them. It's a shame I wasn't here the day Boyd came back, so I could run interference on 'em, but they're adults. They should be able to sort their shit out."

That was... a fair assessment, yeah. Duck couldn't really argue with that. He didn't know either of them well enough to tell how soon they'd sort out their differences - or if they'd even try at all. At this point, he really felt like it was none of his damn business, but... as long as nobody was getting hurt, then he wouldn't get too involved. 

Maybe it was time to chat with Stern about this. With Gary. Christ, it was still weird, referring to him by his first name; it'd been six months since Duck found out that Gary was actually his cousin, but it had been thirty years since they'd spoken. It was taking some getting used to. But Gary was on good terms with Jane already, and he and Duck were really starting to get along. 

Maybe they could go out and grab brunch, or something. The three of them. A Newton-Stern family outing, or whatever the fuck. That would be hilarious. But then -

Duck's eyes drifted across the room, and landed on the empty chair by Mama's bookshelves. A strange feeling swept over him, when he realized that it was just him, Mama and Aubrey. "Crap," he said. "We should've - damn it. Have either of you heard much from Ned lately?"

Both Aubrey and Mama grimaced. "No, not really," Aubrey admitted. "I haven't seen him come by the Lodge since Monday. I figured he was just - well -"

"He's takin' some time, yeah," Mama said. "He and Boyd are on bad terms, so I don't blame him for wantin' to keep his distance. I get why, but..." She sat back in her chair, shaking her head. "He usually swings by for dinner, every now and again," she said, half to herself. "Haven't seen him come by at all this week. Damn. We really oughta fill him in on this, too."

"I can throw something together tonight," Duck offered. "Me and Aubrey can do it. Order some pizza, drive over to the Cryptonomica for dinner. Full moon's this weekend, anyway, we've gotta get him in the loop before then." Aubrey nodded.

Mama smiled and shook her head, looking almost proud. "See, y'all got it," she said. "You look out for each other." She picked up the sample bag on her desk, seemed to think better of it, and set it down. "I trust y'all to take care of everything, okay? I'll give these samples a look, unless you need them back."

"Nah, you can keep 'em," Duck said. "I'll figure something out." Technically he wasn't supposed to use official sample bags for things like this, and he'd have to include them on their next inventory check, but... nah. What nobody knew wouldn't hurt them.

The light in Mama's office turned dimmer, greyer, as a cloud passed over the sun; the whole Lodge seemed to creak. A dull roar filled the air, and they all glanced out the window. Duck's stomach lurched. Fat, wet clumps of sleet were falling from the sky, rustling the leaves and landing with dull _ thuds _ on the windowsill. It looked like the middle of November out there, not mid-May.

"Well," Mama said. "Fuck."

Across the Lodge, the back door to the hot springs slammed shut. Someone stomped towards the rooms by Mama's office. Duck heard Jane start laughing, the way she did when someone had really made a fool of themselves. "Who was that?" Aubrey said faintly.

Mama frowned. "Was anyone in the springs?"

"Yeah, uh - I think Jake said Boyd was out there," Duck said. 

Mama snorted. "Probably got hit all at once with that sleet," she said, with a fond smile. "Poor dipshit. Well," she added, standing up from her desk. Her hand drifted to her coat, draped across the back of her chair. "If y'all are headed across town to Ned's place, you'd best get a move on. This don't look good at all. I'll go out there 'n take a look or two, while y'all are busy." She shrugged her coat on. "Go on, git."

She shooed them both out of her office. The moment Aubrey opened the door, Duck glanced at the dining room. Panic flared in his chest, and he almost retreated back into Mama's office. Gary was looking right at him. There was a strange look in his eyes - an almost irritated one - and for the briefest moment he thought Gary had heard everything they'd said about him. Aubrey gave him a nervous glance.

Then, Duck saw how Gary was leaning over the table. His eyes were fixed on the hallway to Duck's left. Duck stopped just outside Mama's office and peered down the hallway, not wanting to block Gary's line of sight. The door to Gary's room was wide open, but then -

Footsteps. "Whoops, sorry," Aubrey said, dodging out of someone's way. "You - you good there, Boyd?"

“Just peachy,” Boyd said, charging down the hall. The man’s hair was soaked through, clinging to his head. As he moved past, he shrugged on a battered leather jacket with a sheepskin collar. It looked vaguely familiar - like something Mama would wear, maybe; it reminded Duck of an old motorcycle jacket. Duck saw Boyd head for the back window and peer out, nose pressed almost to the glass. “Jesus fucking wept,” he said, half to himself. “That storm’s looking ugly.”

Gary muttered, “You _ still _had to look to find that out?” 

Jane snorted. Boyd glared at Gary; from this angle, Duck thought he looked even more like a drowned rat. “I didn’t ask, thanks,” he snapped, yanking open the door. 

The roar of falling water hit Duck all at once; sleet pounded the surface of the hot springs, churning in the steam, and a gust of icy wind blew in through the open door. A handful of fresh green leaves came tumbling with it, plastering themselves to the floor and Boyd’s shins. Boyd didn’t give any of it a second glance; he zipped up his jacket and stepped out onto the deck, squinting at the storm with his hands on his hips.

Everyone stared at him for a moment. “He’s gonna get sick, probably,” Jane said. “That don’t look good out there.”

“Hm,” said Gary. He scribbled something on his notepad. Then something seemed to hit him; he slammed his pen down, eyes wide, and charged towards the door. “Hang on, Mr. Mosche?” Duck grimaced. Gary was always so damn _ formal _with everyone. “Where the - hey, where did you get that jacket?” Gary said, pulling open the back door. The sounds of the storm poured in.

Boyd paused. “The closet!”

“Which closet?”

“The - the one where all my shit is!”

“That’s in my room!” Gary snapped. “We have _ had _this conversation before -”

Sorry, _ what? _Duck slowly turned away from the back door, meeting Aubrey’s eyes. She grimaced. He kept turning until he was facing the front window, trying to ignore what was going on behind him. None of his business. It was none of his business. They’d handle it! 

The little mound of snow on Gary’s car was getting bigger, but was quickly pounded into slush by the falling sleet. Duck’s own truck wasn’t faring much better. Duck sighed heavily, staring at the piles of slush on the hood. Water pooled on the ground under the truck. It was strange to see; it was a perfectly warm mid-May day, warm enough for the snow and sleet to melt as it hit the ground, and yet…

Aubrey was definitely right. This weather wasn’t normal. Not by a long shot.

As he shrugged on his jacket, mentally preparing himself to go outside to clear the sleet away, the phone on the front desk started to ring. Everyone looked up at it. “I got it,” Aubrey said quickly, picking it up. “Amnesty - oh,” she said, eyebrows flying up. She glanced at Duck and waved him over. “It’s for you.”

“What?” Duck said dumbly.

“It’s Indrid.”

Duck almost tripped on the rug on his way over. Aubrey passed him the receiver, smirking; he shoved her in the arm, leaning on the reception desk. "Hey, hey, what's up?"

Indrid's light, gentle voice flowed from the receiver. _ "Don't bother calling Pizza Hut," _ he said plainly. _ "I already ordered ahead for us." _

Duck caught himself wrapping the telephone cord around his finger like a teenager in an '80s movie, but he didn't stop. "Oh, nice," he said. Then, what Indrid said registered. "Hang on, what? Us?"

_ "I saw you would be coming over in... oh, thirty minutes or so," _ Indrid said. Duck heard a soft tapping sound, as if Indrid was wiggling a pen between his fingers and tapping it on a pad of paper. He knew that sound all too well, these days. _ "Figured I'd save you some trouble, what with this storm and all." _

"Oh," Duck said. He swallowed. "Damn, Indrid, that's... real nice of you. Thank you. Really, I mean it, thank you."

_ "Of course," _ Indrid said kindly. _ "And - well, I hate to ask, but can I invite myself along?" _

"Along - where? Thought we were gonna have dinner at our place? Pick up Ned 'n drive back?"

_ "There's a possibility," _ Indrid said carefully, _ "that the storm might get worse. It won't be snowdrifts and ice, per se, it's not cold enough for that, but it very well may start flooding." _

"Ew."

_ "Precisely. The Pizza Hut's closer to the Cryptonomica than it is to our apartment, so... it may be better to pick up the food and take it to Ned's. What do you think?" _ He paused, then added, _ "Besides, I wouldn't mind being there, if you're talking Pine Guard business." _

Duck took a deep breath, slowly let it out. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's... the idea."

Indrid was silent for a bit; all Duck could hear was the tapping pen, and the soft rustle of clothes as he breathed. _ "How is it?" _ he said quietly. _ "Over there?" _

Sleet pattered on the roof. As it melted and slid around, the shadows shifted and warped on the dome above him. Duck glanced up; it felt like he was looking up at churning storm clouds, a mass of swirling grey. "Could be worse," he said.

_ "Mm." _

And then there was a dull thunk from downstairs, as if something heavy had fallen against a wall. Or perhaps a closed door. Mama left her office like a tornado, throwing the door open and clattering down the stairs to the basement. Duck watched her go, an uneasy knot in the pit of his stomach. "Could... could be better, too," he choked out.

Indrid took a deep breath, slowly let it out. _ "There's nothing we can do right now," _ he said softly. _ "At least, from what I can see. Only time will tell." _

Duck's knuckles were white on the telephone cord. "Yeah," he said softly. "We'll see." It was getting harder, these days, but... Duck liked to think he was a patient man. He could wait.

There was silence for a long, long time. Then Indrid intoned, _ "Pizza." _ Duck snickered. _ "Think about the pizza, hon. Focus in on that." _

"Yeah, yeah," Duck said. "Doin' my best."

_ "I'll be seeing you soon, alright?" _ said Indrid. _ "Make sure and snag Barclay on your way out, though - don't wanna leave him in the dust with this. Lord knows he needs a break." _

Duck heard feet trudge up the basement steps; Mama came into view, shoulders slumped, and disappeared into her office. He sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I think we all do."

* * *

The Forest Service truck pulled up to the Cryptonomica thirty minutes after closing time. Sleet and freezing rain poured down in sheets; the potholes in the parking lot turned into small lakes, swirling with dirt and mud. Near the entrance to the parking lot, a single column of hail fell; the truck paused just before it, but gunned it through the hail, pulling into a parking space at the front with minimal damage. Mud sprayed from its tires.

There was a gap in the trees, on the furthest edge of the parking lot. Things shifted in the shadows. 

A few people got out of the truck; one of them, a tall and burly man with greying hair, opened an umbrella over the cab's passenger doors. Barclay, his name was. He’d worked at the Lodge for years. Then someone much shorter, with hair buzzed into a mohawk pompadour and a jean jacket bristling with pins, opened the door; she wrestled with a few boxes and bags, clearly from the Pizza Hut down the road.

A leather-gloved hand lifted a pair of bedazzled night vision goggles.

Then Duck Newton got out. He grabbed one of the bags from the back seat, hunched under Barclay's umbrella, and sprinted through the sleet to the Cryptonomica's front porch. A lanky man with reflective glasses joined him. Barclay, though... he lingered by the truck, long after that girl had gone inside. His eyes scanned the tree line. 

The exterior lights flashed on. Muffy Maplecourt flinched, dropping the night vision goggles in the mud. "Damn it," she hissed. Winthrop snatched them up.

Across the parking lot, Barclay turned and closed the truck's back door, going inside.

Winthrop hastily wiped the goggle's lenses with the hem of his shirt. She waved a hand at him. "Don't bother."

"Why not?" he whispered.

"This isn't the right night."

Winthrop scowled. Water dripped off the brim of his camouflage hat. "Then when, sweetheart?" he said softly. "We don't have much time."

Muffy squinted through the rain and sleet. She could hear voices - laughter, a few jokes, plates clattering on the table. The inside of the Cryptonomica looked so warm, so inviting... what she wouldn't give to be inside, right then. 

The time wasn't right. But the right time would come. "We'll see," Muffy said. "We have time, don't worry. We just have to wait." She slowly stood up; the mud shifted under her high-heeled boots, and she winced as one of them sank in. She was _ not _looking forward to cleaning these out. Winthrop dragged himself to his feet, too, tucking the goggles into his jacket pocket.

Then thunder cracked above them; the two of them flinched, clutching at each other's arms. That shaky, unstable feeling of standing muddy ground didn't leave Muffy. Barclay had long since gone inside, but the sense of being watched by something lingered. Muffy wouldn't admit it, but sometimes... this town scared her. She tugged on Winthrop's arm, and the two of them picked their way across the muddy forest floor. Thunder rumbled again, like an empty stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it this far...... thank you so much. holy shit, i did not mean to be away from this story for so long, but one thing led to another, finals happened, shit happened at home... it's been a while. i swear, i'm going to keep plugging away at this story until it's done, mark my words! i'd love to hear what y'all thought of this one, or anything you might be interested in seeing in future chapters. you know the drill. leave me a comment if you'd like, or [drop me an ask on tumblr](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/ask). thanks so much for reading!


	14. The Reason for the Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on TCOS:
> 
> \- While hiking, Aubrey and Dani were slammed with a surreal, unnatural hailstorm.  
\- Meanwhile, Leo finally had that chat with Mama, about exactly what she wanted with Sylvain.  
\- Duck and Aubrey talked with Mama about what happened to them, and Mama revealed the level of her trust for Gary Stern... which, to be frank, isn't much, despite everything he's done to try and fix his mistakes.  
\- Duck, Aubrey, and Indrid decided to visit Ned, who'd been isolated and lonely the past couple of days. They brought pizza to the Cryptonomica, planning on having a fun dinner with him to lift his spirits.  
\- While they're there, however, Muffy and Winthrop have been watching the Cryptonomica from the forest. Whatever their reason for being here is, tonight "isn't the right night." As rain falls over the Cryptonomica, Muffy and Winthrop vanish into the shadows.
> 
> Next:  
\- The end of the world.  
\- Kidding. But who's to say? Duck sure doesn't fucking know, and he almost wishes he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by:  
\- ["Years to Burn," Calexico](https://open.spotify.com/track/2dfd5j1p4RuMnWD81U2NgJ?si=OD4cWakOQ_GkQQCkghs2bQ)  
\- ["Drop," Ludovico Einaudi](https://open.spotify.com/track/381CiPxO6w8jW3LEL4fXtC?si=5vkOguO7R4W3tP-qSle-IQ)  
-["Rearrange Us," Mt. Joy](https://open.spotify.com/track/1uZIL52W5zXEF55fCh5lqP?si=dWqv9u5cTRS_BeKRCTcvbg)  
\- and ["Tin Man," America,](https://open.spotify.com/track/4uTTd2SlalZoG0zVgI63kH?si=kMUKqA1ZR8Sdu_dTBnwcag) from which the title comes from:
> 
> "But Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man  
That he didn't, didn't already have  
And Cause never was the reason for the evening  
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad  
So please believe in me"
> 
> Fun vibes! Not depressing at all! The official TCOS playlist has also been reworked to just feature songs I've used for chapters, and it can be found [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Gz3CsQOSzM1uh5J74CuAZ?si=xcdPKtfMQvqbof9bIb0CJA)
> 
> Thousands of thanks to my friend/beta Danny; without her unending patience, incredible wealth of ideas, and discerning eye for detail, this chapter would not have come out at all.

The bell above the Cryptonomica door jingled. Aubrey wrestled the pizza boxes through the door; the vegan pizza box on the top slid around like a hockey puck. As Aubrey swayed back and forth, trying to keep it stable, Duck slunk under Barclay’s outstretched umbrella and grabbed the box. “I got ‘em, I got ‘em,” he said. “Hey, trade you the drinks?”

“Gotcha,” Aubrey said, voice strained. She grabbed the plastic bag full of 2-liters from him, shoved the pizza boxes into his arms, and fumbled blindly at the wall. With a flicker and a buzz, the lights in the Cryptonomica flickered on. Duck shifted the pizza boxes, getting a better grip on them, and looked around. 

He never knew just what to make of the Cryptonomica. Half museum, half garage sale, the old building usually seemed like a cluttered mess, but now that Duck knew more of the cryptids in it by name, the museum felt like the world’s biggest practical joke. It was packed to the gills with all sorts of cryptid-themed paraphernalia: statues, samples, posters, tapestries, a few incredibly well-done statues that gave Duck the heebie-jeebies.

And it all felt like home, in a strange way. Comforting. Wasn’t quite like the Lodge’s homey vibes, but the Cryptonomica still felt nice. Going there was quite literally visiting a friend’s house - no longer a journey to the unknown. And even though he’d known Victoria - the previous owner - for years, It was damn near impossible to separate this place from Ned, in Duck’s head.

Floorboards creaked on the other side of the counter. Speak of the devil - Duck nearly turned to look, but as he did, Indrid lunged forward; his arm leapt out to steady the pizza boxes. Behind him, Ned’s voice said, "Uh.”

"Hey, Ned," Aubrey said, waving. "Good to see you, too. Hope we're not... interrupting anything?" 

Duck turned around. Ned was standing awkwardly in the doorway behind the counter, eyes wide. "No, no, I - got a heads up," he said, with a nervous chuckle. He still sounded as if he couldn't believe they were there. "Barclay called ahead and told me you'd be comin’, so... thanks for the warning." 

"Yeah, no problem," Duck said. “We're just here for a good time. Hey, you want cheese or sausage? Or some of Aubrey's vegan stuff?" 

"No, that one's all mine," Aubrey said. She headed for the counter, wincing as she stepped in a puddle, and put the wings and 2-liters of soda next to the rack of cryptid postcards. Barclay stepped in and shut the door; Duck moved to let Barclay pass, but Barclay didn't move around him. He flipped open the first box on the stack in Duck's arms - Aubrey's vegan pizza - and plucked a bell pepper slice from somewhere near the edge. 

Duck gave him a flat look. Barclay popped the pepper into his mouth, looking back with a raised eyebrow. “I saw that,” Aubrey called out.

“Naw, you didn’t,” Barclay said cheerily. He patted Duck once on the shoulder, ducking behind the counter and edging past Ned in the doorway. Duck heard plates clatter and silverware rattle. 

A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows; sleet pinged off the siding, like a thousand tiny fingers drumming on the wall. They all winced. Ned grimaced, scratched his beard. "You really didn't have to come all the way out here, in this weather," he said lamely.

"Aw, nonsense," Duck said. "Shit could be worse. It's fuckin' May, Ned, you're forgettin' where we are. Could have been a blizzard."

Indrid hooked his foot behind a chair and dragged it over; it screeched softly on the wood. He sat down and muttered, "Don't jinx it. Watch -"

"Tryin' not to," Duck said. 

He dropped the pizza boxes on the front counter. Immediately, the lid flew open, and the whole stack of pizzas almost slid off the counter. Duck yelped and hugged them to his chest, nearly squashing them all. "The boxes," Indrid finished. It looked like he was trying not to smile. "Watch the boxes."

Duck sighed, shaking his head, and started rearranging the boxes on the counter. He nudged a box of gum out of the way. " 'Preciate the warning," he said, grinning at Indrid.

Indrid gently nudged his calf with his foot. "I live to serve," he said, a wry smile finally breaking through; Duck rolled his eyes and started rearranging the boxes on the counter. As he looked away, though, he noticed Indrid slump a bit in his chair Indrid’s eyes seemed a bit distant, as if his mind was somewhere else. Honestly, at this point Duck couldn’t blame him for that - it was a wild, wild world out there these days.

Ned's little dining room was a bit small for the five of them, so they migrated to the front of the museum. Aubrey dragged a couple of chairs from the dining room, but chose to sit on the counter. The rest of them settled into chairs, passing around the boxes and laughing while the storm raged on outside.

It was working. Tonight was working. Duck honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd had a night like this. Granted, sitting on the floor and tearing through a couple boxes of pizza, shooting the shit with friends... that felt like it belonged to a younger Duck. A less responsible one. One that didn't pay taxes, or wasn't the one who'd have to grimace at the receipt for their order. If Duck closed his eyes, he could almost feel Juno hovering over his shoulder, or Dewey hanging around in the other room, or one of his old buddies whose name had been lost to time. 

Somehow it felt right tonight, though, as if a part of his life he hadn't been paying attention to had come full circle. Maybe that was a good sign. That familiarity, with these new people. It was getting easier for Duck to believe he'd earned it.

It was clear Ned needed the distraction, too. The past few days had been hell on him; he seemed wound up like a spring, tense and frayed around the edges. Duck couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know what kind of history Ned and Boyd had, but it couldn’t have been good, if his mere presence at the Lodge was enough to drive Ned away.

It didn’t take long to fill Ned and Barclay in on everything that happened: the freak storms, the weird plants, the things Juno told Duck about. Ned sat and listened, frowning softly, nodding in all the right parts. Barclay took notes on a scrap of paper. Ned asked a few questions about what they were going to do next, but nobody really had an answer. The most they could do was take things as they came. 

The conversation drifted. Duck noticed everyone relaxing, losing some of their tension, as they caught each other up on things that happened that week. Once things started to wind down, they all very carefully avoided bringing up Boyd. 

Didn't mean they couldn't talk shit about anyone else, though. 

“Oh, come on, Duck.”

“Ned -”

“I can’t go through life thinking that Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass is perfect and infallible,” Ned said, gesturing with his pizza crust. Indrid took a long, long drink from his cup of soda. “Do me a favor and break that illusion before I die, Christ.”

Duck put his head in his hands. Barclay chuckled softly in his chair. “I didn’t know him after I turned twelve, Ned,” Duck said wearily. “I told you, my mom and his mom had a godawful falling out, and we stopped talkin’ to his side of the family! I don’t know any shit he’s gotten up to since.”

“Well, what about when you were kids?” Aubrey suggested. “Kids get up to all sorts of goofy stuff.” 

“Lord knows I did," Ned added.

"Like you’d remember any of that, old man," Duck said. Barclay laughed softly to himself; Ned threw a packet of parmesan cheese at him. "I mean… he was just a goofy kid, I guess. Nothin’ too special. The shit I remember is real fuckin’ boring."

"I'm not going for interesting, just funny," Ned said. “Lord knows I need a laugh.”

Indrid raised an eyebrow at him. "And not for blackmail."

"No, not blackmail," Ned said. Barclay gave him a flat look. "Okay, maybe a little," he admitted. "To be fair, Stern started it! I haven't forgotten what he tried to pull last November! I'm just tryin' to level the playing field a little." 

"What, _ he _ tried to blackmail _ you?" _ Aubrey said, astonished.

"I - well, he said he might give it a shot," Ned said. He leaned back in his chair; the front legs of it lifted slightly off the ground. He added, making air quotes with his fingers, "If he 'rang my bell' then he wanted me to 'come running,' or somethin' like that. I don't know if he's gonna follow through on it, but..." He tapped his temple. "If he does, I'll be watching. So, c'mon, Duck. Got any inglorious, ignominious tales - "

Aubrey groaned and put her head in her hands. “Don’t say that,” she muttered. “Too many syllables. It’s too late for that.”

“‘Deserving of disgrace or shame,’” Indrid intoned, like he was reading from a dictionary. “He’s onto something, for once.”

“Okay, then, Mr. SAT Words List,” Barclay said; Indrid grinned at him, popping another piece of pizza into his mouth.

Ned was still looking at Duck expectantly. 

Duck took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Well," he said, and paused. Personally, he didn't think dumb stories about Gary were the same caliber as Ned's supposed criminal record... but hey. Everyone was having fun; the sharp, stressed look in Barclay’s eyes had faded, Aubrey was having a good time, Indrid seemed… occupied with something but was still smiling pleasantly at the room. A distraction was a distraction. Gary was a low-hanging fruit, in present company. "Yeah," he said at last. "They're not really embarrassing, they're just... real on brand for him."

Ned grinned. "Do tell."

"Tell them about the green beans," Indrid said. He sat cross-legged on his chair, tearing the pizza apart with his fingers and dipping it in the spare barbecue sauce that came with their wings. "That one incriminates you a _ teensy _bit, but -"

"Yeah, Indrid, it really fuckin' does," Duck said, turning to look at him. "I'm not gonna put my own ass in the wind here." Indrid shrugged, tearing off another piece of pizza. Barclay tossed him a roll of paper towels; Duck caught it and put it on the floor next to Indrid's chair. "He... got locked in a bookstore once, overnight," he said thoughtfully.

"Jeez," Aubrey said. "Did they get him out?"

"I mean, he's wanderin' around now, clearly he's fine," Duck said. "I think he picked up a book, got absorbed in it, 'n went to find a quiet place to read, and then when they closed up for the night they just... didn't find him. He tried to leave at midnight and set off the store alarms, and that's when things got rough, but... yeah, that's about it."

Ned snickered softly to himself. “Hey, it’s not that funny,” Aubrey said, with a good-natured grin. “That almost happened to me once, too. Cut us some slack.”

Ned winced. “Just kidding,” he said. “He just doesn't peg me as the reading type, y’know?” He picked up his tumbler of Dr. Pepper, swirling it in his hand like a wine glass. "Too 'married-to-his-job' to ever want to sit down and read a book for fun, y’know? Wouldn’t know fun if it bit him in the ass.”

“Seems like he’d like knitting,” Aubrey commented.

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“Hey, I like knitting,” Barclay said.

Ned patted his arm. “Sorry, Barks,” he said. “I’m just sayin’. It’s hard to wrap my head around. How'd a kid like him end up in the goddamn FBI?"

Duck hesitated. "Y'know, sometimes I have the same question," he said, staring down at his plate. "He really, uh... took to it. From the looks of it."

"You can say that again," Barclay said darkly. There was a thread of spite in his voice, deep down, and the air in the Cryptonomica seemed just a bit colder. Duck cleared his throat awkwardly, picking up his pizza. "Do we know what he did to get in their good books? From what I know of... people like him, they don't just take anyone who applies."

Everyone looked at Duck. Duck took a bite of his pizza, and didn't notice their eyes on him until he was going back for a second. "What?" he said. "Hm? D'you mean, like, credentials?"

"Yeah, did he do anythin' in college?" Barclay said. 

Duck snorted. "Funny fuckin' story about that," he said, setting his plate down on his lap. "After I found out that Stern was - well, my cousin, I went and looked up his name, and I found his old LinkedIn page. Guess what he did in college. Take a swing at it."

"I don't fuckin' know... biology?" Barclay said lamely. "English?"

"Warmer with English, keep going."

"Business?" Ned said. "Feels like he coulda been a business major, to me."

"Colder," Indrid said, wiping sauce off his fingers. Duck knew exactly where he was going with this; when Duck found out, Indrid was the first person he looped in. "So wrong it's not even funny. He did history."

Everyone stared. "He what?" Aubrey said. "He was a fucking _ history major?" _

"Hm, more boring than I thought," Ned muttered, taking a long drink from his glass.

"Well, he must've really taken to it, 'cause his LinkedIn said he got a PhD from the University of Chicago," Duck said. Barclay coughed into his glass. "Now, how someone with a history and folklore PhD ends up hunting cryptids is beyond me, aside from..." He waved a hand. "Y'know, all the 'my uncle told me a wack-ass story about the Kennedy Assassination and Mothman once' shit -" 

A strange look passed over Ned's face, but quickly vanished. 

"But unless they were gonna stick him in research, I dunno how well that would have helped 'em."

"He must have done some research they got interested in," Barclay said, half to himself. His face was grim. "And then they sent him into the field. Those people will loop in anyone, if they think they're an asset - and that goes double for Stern's department, I think." His eyes grew more distant, lost in thought. "They really do take anyone. Almost got blown up by a demolitions expert in the '50s."

"Good thing he's on our side, then," Aubrey said optimistically. 

But nobody answered. Duck felt vaguely queasy, as Mama's words from earlier rattled around inside his head, like a handful of bullets. She'd made her stance on Gary Stern abundantly clear, and Duck got that, but for a horrible, sinking moment, he felt guilty for not breaking the silence. Duck wasn’t one to take shit-talking about family lying down.

Then someone changed the subject. Duck took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and finished his slice of pizza. Next to him, Indrid set down his plate, idly picking at a loose thread at the hem of his hoodie.

The night kept winding down, lazy and slow; the sleet outside turned to a sad, gloppy rain, hissing on the roof like gravel pouring from someone's hands. The food and the late hour dulled everything’s edges; Duck caught himself nodding off, while Barclay was telling them all about some early Pine Guard shenanigans, and shook himself awake. The lights flickered, but they’d been flickering since they’d come in - the Cryptonomica was an old building, a certain place down to the bones, and Duck could take comfort in that consistency. 

He rubbed his eyes. Across their little circle from him, Ned sat half folded-in on himself, arms hugging his chest and his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked… distant. Untethered, a bit. As if he was in a boat, watching a distant shore drift away. 

Something in Duck’s chest twisted. It wasn’t like Ned to be this quiet, this withdrawn. Maybe there was something he could do about that. He cleared his throat. 

Across the room, Aubrey let out a jaw-splitting yawn. Ned glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Hm?”

“It - time,” Duck said sluggishly, squinting across the room at the clock above the register. It was a cuckoo clock shaped like a big mutant Venus flytrap-looking thing in a flowerpot - the plant thing from _ Little Shop of Horrors _, maybe? It had been a while since he’d seen it. The clock face was embedded in the pot, and from the looks of it, whenever it chimed, the mouth would open. 

The clock read 6:27. Hm. Well, that wasn’t helpful. 

“11:30,” Barclay said, checking his own watch. 

“Damn. I figured, it’s gettin’ late,” Duck said. Behind him, Indrid quietly stacked his dishes and set them next to Duck’s. “I got - it’s a weekday tomorrow, I gotta work, and I’m half of our rides back, so.”

“Shit,” Aubrey said, through another yawn. “I forgot about that, Duck, sorry -”

“No, hey, it’s not your fault,” Duck said. “We all just got carried away. Shit -” He stretched his arms above his head, wincing as his back popped. “Happens. Jesus Christ. Hey, uh, Ned?”

Ned looked up.

“Wanna help me with the trash? Is there a place -”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ned said, standing up.. He leaned back a little and stretched. “There’s a dumpster out back, lemme show you where.”

Indrid and Aubrey helped Barclay rearrange the Cryptonomica, while Ned and Duck tossed their trash into the dumpster as quick as they could, sprinting back to the cover of the back porch. Duck shivered, wiping water off his face. The sleet drummed on the roof, dripping from the eaves and splattering in the mud. 

Over the noise, Ned said, “I’m real glad you all came by, Duck. You’re…” He paused, mouth half open to speak, but seemed to think better of it and shook his head. “Nah. Never mind.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance; the trees sighed under a sudden gust of wind. The woods ran right up against the back of the Cryptonomica, close enough that the lower pine branches rasped against the back porch’s roof. Both of them looked out into the woods, watching the shadows churn. Duck swallowed. It didn’t look like anything was there, but… it was too dark to really tell. “Look, Ned -”

There were raised voices inside, and laughter. Duck glanced through the window in the back door. Inside, Barclay and Aubrey were playing rock-paper-scissors, Aubrey holding the half-eaten vegan pizza between them. Indrid stood by the door, hands in his pockets, watching them play. He met Duck’s eyes and smiled faintly, then looked away.

“I’m looking,” Ned said slowly.

Duck flinched, came back to himself. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Just - hey. I know it might not do much for you right now. But if anythin’ comes up, you really can talk to us about it. I’m just sayin’.”

Ned sighed. “Duck -”

“Listen, I worry, alright? I saw you in there, spacing out. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re going through a shitty fuckin’ time, right now, with...” He almost said Boyd’s name, but it stuck in his throat. Was that even the right thing to say? For a moment, he almost wanted to say “your ex,” but… Jesus Christ, that’d be assuming a hell of a lot, and jumping to conclusions like that might just make things worse. He grimaced. “Everything,” he said feebly.

Ned sighed. “It’s nothin’, really,” he said, arms crossed tight across his chest. There was a faint thread of relief in his voice, though - as if he’d been waiting deep down for someone to acknowledge him, speak some truth to what he was going through. Duck leaned against the wall and nodded. “Just a whole lot of bullshit lately, y’know?”

“Mm, yeah,” Duck said.

“Y’all coming out here was… was fantastic, and I really do appreciate it,” Ned said, “but I really don’t know - I just - this pickle I’m in, with - with _ Boyd _coming back and - and -” He sputtered to a halt, mouth opening and closing like a fish. His sentence went unfinished. “It’s a lot,” he said, looking down. “But I can handle it.”

“Y’sure?”

“I’m sure, Duck.”

He really didn’t sound sure, but Duck wouldn’t press him any more than that. “Aubrey’s tied up a bit, back there, but I know she’d be askin’ you the same thing, if she was out here with us.” He patted Ned on the shoulder, and pulled open the back door. “Just give us a shout if you wanna talk, man. Or even if you just want somethin’ like tonight - no strings, no rules, just right. We’re here for you.”

The sleet, thrumming on the shingles, filled the silence. Ned did not say anything for a long time; he looked at a point somewhere below Duck’s shoulder, as if looking directly at Duck’s face would make him crumble into ash. At last, he took a deep breath and said, in a voice nearly drowned out by the sleet, “I think I might take you up on that.”

“Hope you do,” Duck said. He grinned at Ned. “Hey, gives us an excuse to crash at your place and annoy the hell out of you, right?”

And Ned grinned back. “Yeah,” he said. “I can get behind that.”

They gathered their pizza, put back the chairs. The hail had stopped, by the time they finally left the Cryptonomica and clattered down the front porch stairs. It was a sad, gloppy sort of sleet, now, still falling in those weird columns, halfway to snow and chilling to the bone. October sleet, Duck thought. He almost expected to see orange leaves littering the parking lot.

Light glittered on the ground like reflected sunlight; the clouds obscured the moon in a strange, dappled honeycomb. Duck squinted up at the sky, and a weight landed on his shoulders. Every atom of his body was telling him it was a summer evening, a night where fireflies would dance over Lake Fisher and the trees would creak under a warm, gentle breeze. 

The sky felt too close, too crushing and thick, almost, like Kepler was an insect covered by a giant’s cupped hand. He kept waiting for wind to sigh through the leaves. 

It just felt like the forest was holding its breath. 

Voices, on the other side of the truck. “Shotgun.”

“I already called it,” Aubrey protested.

Sleet hit the end of Duck’s nose; he flinched. 

“You rode shotgun on the way over, Aubrey,” Indrid said, voice light, “and we’re dropping you off, anyway.”

“Aw, c’mon, Indrid...”

“No, _ you _come on, just let me have this.” On the other side of the truck, Indrid tugged on the locked door handle. “Let’s go, Duck,” he called out, voice nearly lost in the rain.

The three of them piled into Duck’s truck, wincing against the cold sleet. Aubrey slid the pizza boxes onto the seat next to them and hopped in with a heavy, tired sigh. She tugged her sunglasses off and cleaned them with the hem of her shirt. In front of her, Indrid pushed his damp hair back off his forehead and did the same. 

In the Cryptonomica’s front window, Duck saw the blinds move aside, just enough for Ned to be visible. Duck lifted his hand from the wheel; Ned gave him a jaunty two-finger salute and smiled faintly, before disappearing behind the blinds.

It worried at him the whole drive back to the Lodge, how Ned had looked. He’d seemed so weary, as if he was being hunted - or as if he was on some sort of cosmic witness stand, forced to behold his past in all too much clarity. Duck really hoped that their visit hadn’t done that to him. He made a point in life of trying to mind his own goddamn business, when he could.

Besides. Ned didn’t seem like the type to take an olive branch unless it was stuck right under his nose, though. Or maybe he was just a closed-off, private man under it all, and he wouldn’t reach out for help unless he absolutely had to. Duck took a deep breath, guiding his truck up the pitted road to the Lodge. He was patient; he could wait. He was good at putting things off. 

A half-forgotten thought, lodged in his mind like a grain of sand in his shoe, came loose and rattled. Something he’d heard someone say, years ago - maybe one of the interns, or a friend from college, or maybe Rick - who read way too many old, depressing Russian novels for his own good - had said it over their very last coworker lunch together before they’d fallen out. Before he died. 

_ Tragedies are always easier to solve from the outside. _

Duck felt something cold twist in his chest. Indrid glanced over at him, then away. No. Ned wasn’t a tragedy. He was a person; he was Duck’s friend. There were still things that he could do to help; he was sure of it.

He wasn’t willing to take a chance and say there wasn’t.

The tires rumbled on the asphalt, as Duck came to a stop in the Lodge’s parking lot. As if she’d read his mind, Aubrey took a deep breath and said, “I’m worried about Ned.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah,” he said. “So… so am I..”

Duck glanced in the rearview mirror; Aubrey was looking out the window, seemingly watching a couple drops of water race each other down the glass. The sleet had mostly stopped falling, save for a column near the Lodge’s front stairs and one near the hood of Duck’s truck. “It just hurts, y’know?” Aubrey said, to the darkness outside. Her voice was soft, uncertain. “Seeing Ned at the end of his rope like this.”

Duck swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Duck stared at the Lodge’s porchlight, the light glittering in the raindrops. It was late; each window was a closed eye, shadowy and dark. He opened his mouth to speak - but Indrid said the words he wanted to first. “Maybe,” he said softly, carefully putting his glasses back on. He glanced at Duck, quietly raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” Duck said heavily. “Indrid’s right. We might not be able to do more than just… be there for him, though. Be a buffer where we can, help him ride it out.”

“But Boyd,” Aubrey said, frowning. “Is there anything we can do about him? If there’s, y’know, anything in that neighborhood that we can smooth over for Ned, anything we can say...”

“Whatever history those two have together, it ain’t any of my business,” Duck said. 

Aubrey winced. “True.”

“And even if there was somethin’ we could do, shit like that’s gonna take time to heal.” Duck stared at a nearby column of sleet, falling just beyond the hood of his truck. Wavering in the moonlight, like a ghost. “But not all things are meant to. Not all things can.” He took a deep breath, slowly let it out. “Take it from me.”

There was silence in the cab, broken only by the strange whisper of sleet on asphalt. Next to him, Indrid went completely still. His hands gently folded in his lap, like a closing book - like the pages of the journal that Duck only just realized that he’d left at their apartment. 

Then Aubrey chuckled, “Okay, then, old man.” Duck glared at her in the rearview mirror. “Christ, now I know how Jane must feel,” she went on, tugging on the door handle. “Thanks for the Duck Newton Big Brother Special.”

“You stop that,” Duck said sternly, but he couldn’t help but crack a smile. The door cracked open and Aubrey slid out, boots crunching on the gravel. “But - that makes sense though, right?”

Aubrey paused in her tracks, then gave him a tiny nod. “Yeah,” she said. “It… yeah. I get what you mean. We’ll just have to… take it as it comes, or something?”

“That’s all you can do sometimes,” Duck said. “Alright, now, get. It’s almost midnight. Stay warm.”

“You too. See ya later.” Aubrey nearly shut the door, paused, opened it, and reached back into the truck to grab the pizza boxes. Indrid reached back blindly, wiggling his fingers; Aubrey passed him a small container of chicken wings, which he put on the seat between them. Duck saw movement behind the front window, and the door swung open; there was a flash of blonde hair and a colorful knit sweater in the shadows. Hands reached out to help Aubrey with the boxes.

Next to him, Indrid lifted his arms above his head and stretched, hissing softly as his shoulders popped. “Alright,” he said, shifting on the seat. He draped one arm over the back of Duck’s seat; Duck felt the worn leather dip behind his shoulders, and couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. “Let’s get going.”

After that, though, the man was eerily silent on the way down the hill. He seemed lost in thought, a wrinkle between his brows as he stared straight out the windshield. His long, thin fingers drummed on the back of Duck’s seat. Duck stopped right before the Main Street turnoff, glancing down the road. “Somethin’ on your mind?” he said to Indrid.

“No,” Indrid said thoughtfully. “Well, yes. I was thinking about... Jake.”

Duck blinked. “Jake?” he repeated, putting his turn signal on. “Huh. What’s up with him, is he doin’ okay?”

“I’d just been thinking about the pizza,” Indrid said. “That last slice of sausage, he’d have eaten it if he’d come along. Good thing we saved it for him; he’ll get to it before Boyd does, if Boyd doesn’t… you know.”

“No,” he said carefully, “I don’t think I do know, what’s he been… up to?”

“Just leaving in the middle of the night, flying around, that sort of thing,” Indrid said, faintly disapproving. “Stern and Mama are having a field day… you know how they are.”

Duck wondered if Indrid knew he was rambling. His voice had a soft quality to it like an unraveling sweater, going on and on. The drumming on the back of his chair reached an almost frantic pace. The pillars of falling sleet rushed past them; the pattering, then silence, over and over again on the metal, sounded like blood rushing in Duck’s ears.

“Indrid?” he said.

“Mm?”

“Is everything… okay?”

They drove past three streets before Indrid answered. That silence was almost answer enough. Slowly, Indrid’s arm dropped from the back of the driver’s seat, and he folded his hands in his lap. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

They kept driving, the waves of sleet rushing past. Indrid’s hands twisted nervously in his lap; if Duck hadn’t been driving, he would have reached over to squeeze them. “It comes back to Jake,” Indrid started, “but it really starts with Aubrey. I’ve been thinking about her, and what she did last night.”

“Going through the gate by herself.”

“Yes.”

“She’s not supposed to be able to do that?”

“Right in one,” Indrid said grimly. 

“And d’you have any idea what’s going on with that?”

“That’s not really my area of expertise,” Indrid said carefully, grimacing. “That’s more Janelle’s area, but if she knew something she would have already clued Aubrey in. But on our side of the gate…”

He fell silent again. Duck flicked the windshield wipers on, and winced as they screeched. “You know - I wrote Sylvain off as a loss, Duck,” Indrid said heavily. 

Duck blinked. Okay. That was blunt, even for him.

“So did Jake, and so have a lot of the exiles,” Indrid said. “The Sylph community in New York, for example. Completely self-sustaining, no desire to go back to Sylvain or depend on it in any way. The way I cut ties with Sylvain, though, it’s not -” He let out a soft, faltering laugh. “It’s not something I’m proud of. It wasn’t an immediate revelation, either, it was simply the most logical observation. Sylvain was dying; Earth was flourishing. It was best to cut my losses and settle here, and it certainly didn’t help that this place -” 

Indrid waved his hand at the window, but like most of his gestures, it seemed to stretch further than just this space, just this town. “It was so easy to fall in love with this world, you know?” Indrid said softly.

“Yeah,” Duck said. “I get it.” 

“It - I thought Earth could be saved, if it had to be. But now, Aubrey’s gone back through the gate. People are talking about healing the place, bringing Sylvain back, saving… _ a _world.”

There was an uncomfortable flutter in Duck’s stomach. 

“Sylvain's not as dead as we supposed it was. And I know I don’t owe that world anything.” Indrid’s hands twisted around each other like pale, scuttling crabs, one thumb rubbing the knuckles of the other. “I know it. I left them for a reason. But tell me, Duck -”

He looked at Duck. Duck could feel it, even though his eyes were on the road. “If a door opened that would take you home,” Indrid said, “would you go through it?”

Duck’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. Home. Home. What kind of question was that supposed to be? He’d lived his whole life in Kepler and hadn’t left it, for a damn good reason, and Indrid’s question settled into him like sand in his teeth. There was no other place he’d ever _ want _to call home. 45 years couldn’t be wrong.

And these days…

There were those newspapers on the coffee table, with circled ad placements. Indrid’s toothbrush next to the sink. Rising full moons, setting suns. He thought of the Eastwood RV Park, too, where he and Indrid first met. He’d passed by one day while making his rounds, and he’d taken a peek into the clearing. The charred skeleton of Indrid’s Winnebago had long since been hauled away. Life was creeping back to the burned-down campground - moss and fern and sapling, grass and seed, flourishing - erasing any sign there had ever been grief there. 

Things had changed, now that Duck knew he wasn’t alone. In visions, in fate, in guilt - in all of it. Duck swallowed, and turned the corner into his apartment parking lot. “Kinda thought you were already home,” he said, through a sudden lump in his throat.

Indrid did not say anything for a long time. At last, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I - am,” he said. “Yes. I am.”

Duck felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He’d almost expected Indrid to say that as if... hell, like it was a revelation - like the sun had risen, the clouds had cleared, like he’d discovered that fact for the first time - but Indrid just sounded _ tired. _

The two of them trudged up the stairs to the apartment, Duck leading with the keys. Leo’s window was dark; it was a weeknight, so the man had probably come home and gone to bed early. Indrid shuffled through the door, shoulders slumped; there was a faint meow, and Duck felt Winnie brush against his leg. “Hey, girl,” he whispered, leaning down in the dark to scratch her ears. Her purring got so loud so quickly that Duck thought thunder was rumbling in the distance. 

He glanced up. His apartment was all shadows and blurred shapes, but he could see Indrid go into the kitchen. The man’s hand froze over the light switch. After a second, he lowered it and went to open the fridge; light bloomed across the linoleum. Duck sighed quietly, scratching Winnie’s ears one last time, and went for the kitchen.

They got ready for bed in silence, in the near-dark. Indrid pried open a new can of wet food for Winnie; Duck slid past him to put the box of leftover wings in the fridge. They brushed their teeth, changed their clothes, locked up, quietly orbiting back to the bedroom - a new routine, in the grand scheme of the universe, but a well-practiced one. Even with how their conversation in the car had gone, in all its nerve-wracking glory, Duck could find some peace in how stable this felt. All of this. 

He didn’t like being nervous about things. Plain and simple. That wasn’t the kind of world he was living in, these days, but he’d at least like to think that there’d be peace after everything. He didn’t know if that was possible, but hell, isn’t that what he was sticking around for? 

Wasn’t that why he turned Minerva down, all those years ago?

In the shadows of the bedroom, it was hard to pin down exactly where Indrid was. Duck was reluctant to say anything; it was easy to track him through the bedroom, when he held his breath and listened. Footsteps, gentle and precise, treading across the floor. A soft _ snick _as Indrid pushed aside the blinds, peering out onto the lake behind the apartments. He stood there, watching something, long enough for Duck to start to get nervous.

What did he see? Duck wondered what the lake looked like, in this strange weather. He’d always loved watching the lake ripple under a storm, like lightless glitter - something returning to itself over and over. Under the falling pillars of sleet, it must have looked so, so different. But now, looking out that back window made him sick to his stomach. Times had changed. Under the covers, Duck closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

At last, Indrid flopped down on the bed with a heavy sigh. They lay there listening to the falling sleet, for a moment; the silence and the stillness weighed on Duck’s chest. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I. Hm.”

“Just say it,” Indrid said wearily.

_ “Would _ you go back to Sylvain, though?” Duck said. Indrid exhaled softly, but said nothing. “If you had to, or if someone - ”

“No,” Indrid said. He paused, reached over Duck to turn on the alarm clock. Duck lifted the blankets, and Indrid quietly folded himself into the space underneath. “I don’t know,” he sighed, slumping onto the pillow. “I don’t think I would. So no.”

“Oh. I - great. That’s… that’s a relief.”

Indrid laughed softly. “I told you, I left to find a way to save them, and stayed because I didn’t think anyone could. Not even me. I just don’t want to know what might happen if -” He faltered. “If I was wrong.”

His voice cracked a bit on the last word. Duck reached over and put an arm around him. “You know what I think?” he said softly. His thumb traced circles on Indrid’s shoulder. 

“Mm?”

“You’re just as human as the rest of us.”

Indrid took a deep breath and slowly, slowly, let it out. Outside, the sleet kept pouring down, “I don’t think I want to be human,” he whispered. His voice was as soft as sand rushing through an hourglass. “I just want to... be.”

There was a lump in Duck’s throat. “I mean you belong here,” he said, “if you want to be. On Earth. With us.”

But Indrid was already asleep. Outside, the sound of rain falling on the roof swelled, like a gentle exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE MONTHS. THREE **MONTHS.** GOD. i am so fucking sorry for going awol for such a long time, but it really has been one hell of an awful summer to get anything done. I hope you're all well and hanging in there. To everyone who's come back and made it this far, I can't thank you enough for continuing to read this story. This whole Lunar Interlude, as it were, has become as long as the entirety of TMWCIFTC because of how much _bullshit_ I'm doing, and it's still evolving as I go. Having a great time, though!
> 
> As always, I would love to hear from you after this chapter. Thoughts? Questions, comments, general feelings? Drop me a line at [my tumblr](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/ask) , or leave a comment below! Next chapter we stop in with Aubrey, and after that we follow Gary around for just a bit. Stay tuned! Have a good one!


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